Magic of Monkey Island Book 3: Daughter of Monkey Island.
by Aletheia
Summary: Concludes the story begun in The Mask of Medusa and The Song of Monkey Island--Guybrush must call on all his resources to defeat an inhuman monster who would turn his own daughter against him.
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

Overhead, the brilliance of the night sky was slowly fading, the dark dots of the stars and the blackened crescent of the waning moon gradually merging in color with the iridescently-gray sky until the overhead scene was flat and featureless, monotone. The sky at dawn lost its silvery glow just prior to sunrise, becoming a color which was neither bright nor dark, neither brightening the dark world below or adding to its gloom. It was midway. To the quiet watcher below, it epitomized the entire situation--a land caught between two extremes, never quite either.

However, unlike the sad earth below, the sky's middle state was transitory. Gray reigned--until the slightest glow appeared in the east. It was barely perceptible at first, even to the trained eyes of the watcher, but it rose with a certain strange inevitability, brightening the shades-of-gray sky into something that was almost--but not quite--rose. Thin beams of almost-gold pierced the muddle of muted colors appearing over the horizon. The watcher sat forward a little, waiting.

A beam of real color now--light blue and even a thread of white. Pale violets. A hint of real red. A faint glow of yellow. A glowing halo of soft colors gathered at the edge of the horizon, paused, hesitated--and then the sun came up.

The watcher held her breath as the thinnest edge of a black disk emerged. Slowly, oh so slowly, the entire midnight orb appeared, surrounded by its flaming nimbus of colors. It burned its way into the drab sky out of a horizon that was _nearly_ golden, lightening the gray to something that approached blue. The entire landscape lay revealed before the watcher's eyes--a patchwork of disjointed buildings and structures, patched together by the common thread of those who inhabited this place. Each citizen had a 'home' of sorts, a place he or she considered a sanctuary--and it was to this sanctuary that they had fled, ultimately. For it was the only home they had in this the world of the Dead.

The watcher was sitting atop hers--a Greek temple in the ancient style, complete with fifteen-foot Ionic columns and Greek inscriptions or bas relief anywhere there was a flat area on the exterior. Anyone familiar with the Caribbean Myth Island would have recognized it at once as the temple to Athena which crowned the island. However, anyone close enough to examine the carvings or familiar enough with Greek to read the inscriptions would quickly see that this temple was slightly altered. The carving above the front entrance depicted two men and a woman (and two stylized birds, possibly parrots) engaged in battle with a great monster made of rock. The central-most figure was another woman with a sword. Suggested in the background was a legion of men and women, armed and ready for battle against the monster. Around the peristyle, in Greek letters, was inscribed this message:

_Death is not eternal. Death is not the end. There is a place beyond death. There is a return from death. When life returns from death, death will no longer have power over it._

_The name _tou Qreefoudou _will live again. The name of Threepwood will triumph._

The watcher could not read Greek herself, but she knew that that was what the letters said. This plot of land for her temple was her property alone, hers to sculpt as she liked. And so she had set her message of anger and determination into the stone itself, as a warning. It was a pitiable defiance, but it was all she had.

The sun rose higher, a perfect circle of ink against a brilliant corona. It was an eclipsed sun, not the sun visible in the land of the living. The watcher sighed and wished, not for the first time, that she could feel sunlight on her face or arms again. The darkened sun could never burn her or sear into her eyes, but nor could it really warm her. Yet another useless midpoint between extremes.

"Brooding again, are we?" Agnus Traaeiphood beamed down on her from his massive height. He was a literal giant of a man, large enough to make both Chariset and her temple look like children's toys.

Morning breezes stirred the air, rustling in the bushes around her stone sanctuary, running fingers through her hair, which was considerably longer than before. She played idly with a strand of it while dredging up a smile for her first forefather. Of all the prisoners of Big Whoop, he was by far her favorite.

"Morning, Agnus," she greeted, pronouncing it 'Ahn-yoos.'

"It's beautiful, in't it?" he asked, gazing upon the rising disk. "All this time, I've never grown tired of 't."

"Och, you liar," she responded with a more genuine grin. "Less than two months here and I'm already tired o' this miserable excuse for a sun."

"Don' try the accent, la. Ye're not even close." His Welsh grin took the sting out of the words.

Agnus seated himself on his usual hill, resting his huge folded hands on the top of her temple. His massive size and her lengthening hair was the results of the same phenomenon--memories. They were both shades, spirits, reduced to nothing but their souls, personalities...and their memories. Essential characteristics were buried in the very core of their 'bodies,' but more externals, like sense data and experience of the outside world gradually built up around this core, with the result that each spirit gradually had more and more 'mass' as time went on. When two spirits touched, they had to be very careful, or else they would lose their memories and gain the experiences of the other shade. This was why all of them kept the very core of their personality hidden.

Chariset had very little accumulated memory from the spirit world, but Agnus, who had lived here for centuries, had so much that it dwarfed his memories of life. As a result, he was a giant of a man, whereas she had only a couple more inches of hair. Other shades used the accumulating material in new and interesting ways--Elise Threepwood, for example, had transformed herself into a buxom beauty of a woman with ever-larger clothes, ever-taller hats, ever-more-elaborate hairstyles. Chariset had only to look at Agnus's face to read his secret disgust at such displays.

Most of the men made themselves taller, some going to Elise's extreme on the masculine side of the scale. Chariset really didn't want to know what else they had enhanced. Grethelle Threepwood, a woman who had once been a devout pillar of the church before Big Whoop attacked her island, wore loose robes and a pair of breathtakingly beautiful angel wings. Her sanctuary was her former church building, hardly surprising. Chariset liked to visit--it was a place of peace for her. She was saddened to think that the original was long since destroyed--another victim of Big Whoop's curse.

She must have sighed again--at the loss of Grethelle's church, at the black sun, at the hopeless hope she was rapidly losing--because Agnus leaned close and wrapped her in his massive hands. He was so gentle she scarcely felt the touch--not that he could have harmed her, but it would hardly have been comforting. She leaned on him and gave in to the impulse to cry.

Agnus had been her greatest help through all this--without him, she would never have survived the transition to shade-status, at least not sane. He was the one who had taught her how to release the urge to eat, or drink, or even to breathe, though she still did that, partly from habit, partly from defiance. As long as she held out a hope of returning to the living, she refused to forget how to breathe.

He had also shown her how to change reality around her, how to sculpt her temple and its environs, even her body and clothing. Because of him, she controlled her spirit form. She could even cry spirit-tears which felt just as hot and wet as the real thing, which was what she shed now, holding tightly to his thumb. She could never let them fall, of course--they were part of her substance--but the very ability to cry something like real tears was a great help.

Agnus, who had overseen hundreds of Threepwoods struggle with the realization that they were no longer alive, or embodied, and no longer needed to fear death or struggle for life, had never left her even at her most angry or grief-stricken moments. He felt personally responsible for every single one of them, and he considered this a form of penance--plus he had a genuine liking for his descendants. She was just grateful for his warm and understanding strength.

"Tell me again, Angus," she said finally. "What are the laws?"

He paused, then began. "Ye may freely return to the living world as often as ye like-

"Until I break one of the rules..."

"Right, la. If you visit the land of the living and speak to any living person three times, or three living persons, you may no longer return. If you visit a member of the clergy with the ability to send away spirits, and he exorces you, you may never return to that area again. If you visit anyone by daylight, or if you visit the one person who was closest to you in life, you may never return. If you visit that person, your very soul might be forfeit."

"But the most important rule is that I not speak more than three times."

"Right, la."

"Do the rules explicitly say 'speak?'"

"That's how we've always interpreted it, la," Agnus responded with something close to a twinkle in his eye.

Chariset was slowly figuring out the way this world worked. Perhaps she couldn't talk to anyone directly for any length of time, but if she understood correctly, she could talk to them indefinitely....if she were indirect about it....

"Do dreams count?"

"If anything is spoken in the dream."

"What about a song?"

"That," he grinned, "depends on what is said. Sung words sometimes don't count, if what's sung appears to be meaningless."

That would explain how her parents had managed to get away with direct conversation with Guybrush in a dream, telling him how to find LeChuck. She had a few other ideas, but first it was a matter of deciding which message to send whom.

"So ya be plotting after two months here, la?" Angus correctly interpreted her silence.

She raised her eyes up to his face, near the black circle of the sun, wearing a faintly puzzled frown. "Is that good or bad?"

"It's....it's just so very _you_, Chari. From the moment you came here, I knew tha you would do everythin ya could to get back ou' again."

She leaned into the hollow of his hand, strangely warmed by the compliment. "But isn't everyone like that at first?"

"Some aren't, la. And some try for a while, but they lose heart. Even the ones who go out and watch their loved ones usually come back once they see that they are interfering too much with their lives."

"But the one I most want to see _has_ no life, thanks to Big Whoop," she sighed. " At the moment I'm probably more alive than he is."

"And....just which one would _he_ be, lass?"

_Guybrush_. _Murray_. _Both_. "Guybrush....I think," she said after a long pause. "I don't even know where he is or what Big Whoop's done to him. All I know is that he's not here."

"I think I can help you with that, la," Angus unexpectedly offered. "Ye've been here long enough that the grief isn't so..raw....you're ready to see this by now."

"Ready to see what?"

"Come with me." Angus offered her his hand, which she accepted, laying her hand on the very tip of his index finger. She climbed up onto his palm, then walked across it and onto thin air with scarcely a thought. Lifting each foot high, as though climbing an invisible staircase, she ascended to the level of his head and paced alongside him as he slowly crossed the flat and gray land. From this altitude, everything was visible, every little Threepwood domicile, every hill, the great courtyard area where the spirits sometimes gathered, and the unusual patch of black wood at the other end of their tiny world.

The trees were enormous here, tall enough to hide even Angus. They were populated by ghost-beings--pale white owls, deer, rabbits, birds of all description--who fled before them and peered around the trees after they passed. These wisps of spirit had stories of their own--some of them were formed from the cast-off memory-material of Threepwoods who wished to remain normal-sized, some of them were spirits of once-living creatures in their own right. And some of them, the saddest cases of all, in her mind, were Threepwood ghosts who had committed suicide in the only way they could--spinning themselves out, dividing personality, character, mind, into fragments so tiny that they had no identity any more. _Did they know oblivion then_, she wondered, _or do they still know fleeting images of life? Do they know they can never come back to life again? _ Better to remain whole, even now when things looked hopeless.

Angus stopped. Chariset lowered herself to the ground by the simple expedient of 'jumping,' then catching herself just above the forest floor. She stopped the fall only through force of habit--she had no inertia here, so if she had plummeted, she would simply 'land.'

They were in the darkest part of the wood, so dark that only thin beams of colored light threaded in through the branches. The boldest of the deer stood among the trees, glowing faintly. Angus also wore a certain spectral light as he carefully knelt down, parted a few delicate branches, and ushered her in to a tiny grove of willow trees which formed a ghostly canopy in the middle of the forest. Her skin prickled as she entered their shelter.

Within was a tiny pool of water with a foundation of polished black pebbles, its glassy reflective surface almost undisturbed by her footsteps. Outlined in the water, looking back at her, was a woman with a lined and worn face, dark haunted eyes, and wild brown hair which fell all around her shoulders. She was very pale, and while there were hints of youth in her cheekbones and mouth, it was a mockery of health and beauty. There was no mistaking her for a living woman.

She wore pirate clothing and an odd necklace made of beads of glass, most of which were cracked or chipped. In the center was a gemstone of some indeterminate color. A faint, surreal glow surrounded her form, through which the colors of her hair and clothing appeared, though muted and faded. It took Chariset a second to realize that she was looking at her own reflection.

_I look so lost_....

I look gone beyond retrieving.. Mom and Dad and the others are right, I'm a dead woman who has no business meddling with the land of the living....

Her courage almost deserted her, then, but Angus's voice cut through her moment of despair.

"This pool will show you anything you want to see, la. Tell it what you want to know, and it'll tell ye."

"Where--" she faltered. "Where is my brother?"

No response.

She fought down the hard lump of panic rising in her throat. "Show me Guybrush Threepwood!"

The outline of an island she didn't recognize--a jagged, jungle-covered piece of land with black sand on its western beaches. Remembering her earlier plan, she burned its outline into her memory, twisting a stray strand of hair nervously as her eyes searched for any sign of life or movement.

"Closer."

The focus obligingly swept down and in, searching the coastline. Something light-colored caught her eye, under the trees just off one of the black-sand beaches. The picture's angle changed until she was looking in from the ocean. Closer still. The light-colored object was clearly a man's shirt now. She waited tensely as the image expanded to fill the pool, revealing that the owner of the shirt was a lanky man with blond hair, sprawled out on his side under the trees. He appeared to simply lie where he had fallen, eyes closed. He looked dirty and unkempt, unshaven, dehydrated and underfed. His appearance alone was enough to shock her.

Worse than that, however, being a spirit she could actually see his own--a misty, Guybrush-shaped form--and it was flickering and fading, losing its cohesion.

"Angus....he's dying."

* * *

It was dark where he was, and cold.

Good.

He wanted dark. He wanted the cold darkness, the eternal sleep. He wanted never to wake up.

It had taken long weeks of effort to finally be here, long weeks of active or passive self-attack...long weeks of unbearable pain and despair.

Soon it would all be over.

Chari, Elaine...I failed you both...I'm sorry....please see that I'm trying to make it up to you...

Chari, I should have listened. I should have known that Big Whoop was too much for us to handle alone. I should have gone to the Voodoo Lady.

He remembered how haughty he had been, how he had bragged that he was safer unarmed and unprotected.

And I was...I survived. I was the only one to survive. Oh, Chari....why me? Why not you?

Elaine....my love, I left you in that monster's clutches. I left you and our daughter behind trying to save my own skin. What will happen to you once she's born? Will I meet you again soon, once we're both dead and gone? Will you hate me for what I did to you?

Odia....my daughter...how could he name you 'Hatred?' I'll never get to see you grow up. I've never even seen your face....but losing you hurts most of all. I wanted to be a good Daddy to you, my baby, my little baby girl....

Please forgive me for leaving you....

I just can't live without you in my life....

Forgive me...

* * *

"Then you've got to do something, lass," replied the giant from outside the grove.

"What can I do? I can't go to him, can't speak to him--I can't even go down there, because it's still daylight!"

"Consider it a test in creativity, la."

"If I wanted to be creative, I would have construction paper and scissors!" she hissed at the foliage above her head. "My brother is _dying_ down there--don't you have anything _useful_ to offer?"

Angus parted the branches and looked down on her. "So....ye look at him, decide it's hopeless, and give up, eh?"

"I don't know what to do. Those stupid rules keep me from doing anything to help him," she snapped, feeling desperate and angry.

"Ah, an' that's where you're wrong."

She bit back an angry response and waited, torn between frustration and the sense that what he was about to tell her could make all the difference between success and failure in her own plans. "You see, the rules can never be broken, but it is possible to work around them."

"I don't see what difference that makes here."

"All the difference. This pool here, this is the greatest tool we have for bending rules."

She looked into the surface, watching the water ripple lightly. The image did not fade or waver. "This? This is just a magic mirror, nothing more."

"Wrong again, la. You see, when we cross over into the mortal realm, this pool is where we do it. This is our link to the living world."

"Through the water?"

"Right. If you were to go all the way through, you'd be out among the living."

_Ahhhh_... "And what happens if only part of me goes through?"

"I can't tell you that, la. It's against the rules," responded Angus, but his tone was amused.

"You're evil," she replied lightly, appreciating his careful approach. She asserted her will on the image silently, drawing the focus so close to the ground that the surface was mere inches over Guybrush's face. She swallowed hard, reached out gently, trembling a little.....touched the surface and passed through without resistance. Below, a ghostly white hand hovered over the still form of her brother.

Not certain whether this was allowed, she leaned even closer and actually touched him. She cupped her palm around the side of his face, almost recoiling at the feel of living flesh, stubble, grains of sand. He moved slightly, leaned into her hand, covered it with his own.

It was the keenest, most bittersweet moment she had ever known, to be so close to Guybrush yet unable to touch him. It was a rush of sweet pain, like being impaled on a knife of hot honey. She gritted her teeth, but the spirit-tears came anyhow, spilling over her cheekbones to splash in the pool. They fell to living sand in a thin rope of white, persisting, curling like dying worms on the black beach. But by now she had taken his head in both hands and pressed her forehead to his, uncaring, crying in earnest, fighting with all her will not to drag him up into the spirit world with her...to end the loneliness, the worry over him. Had her parents ever held her this way? Did they feel the same frustrated, desperate, painful love that she felt. She didn't know.

"Don't give up," she whispered. "I'm alive. And one day I'll be with you again, I promise you. I'm coming. Don't give up on me, Guybrush."

* * *

_Don't you dare give up on us_

Who said that?

_I did_

Who are you?

_You know me, Guybrush_. _I am one of the women you 'wronged_'

I knew you'd come back to haunt me.

A soft chuckle. _You underestimate me, Guyber_.

Chari?

_None other_

You came back? Why?

_Because you're dying_. _Did you expect me to just sit back and watch_?

Why try to stop me? Why shouldn't I just give up?

_Because of this, Guybrush_

And he saw a world without a sun, without moonlight or starlight. He saw a host of shades and knew their names and faces. Chari showed him her temple, the dim spirit-forest, their first ancestors. Their parents.

_Don't you see_? _Death is not the end for us after all_. _But it's no beginning, either_. _We're not part of any story or anyone's life, but we could still live again_. _You've got to keep fighting_. _You've got to find the way to break Big Whoop's power, before he strikes again_. _You are the very last of the line_

What can I do?

_Be creative_

Funny, Chari...

_Do you ever want to hold your baby girl in your arms_?

That's low!

_Wake up, Threepwood_! _You don't want the last of the family to be an evil pawn of Big Whoop, do you_?_ Think about your dreams! You spent years trying to become a pirate_._ You, against all odds, succeeded and won the love of your life_._ You defeated LeChuck **four** times. Did you really go through all that just to die here on a lost island where no __one will know who you were_?

I'm so tired, Chari...

_I know, _she sighed. S_o am I_. _But the dead don't rest as quietly as I always thought_._ The last time I ever knew rest was in the hold of the Sea Cucumber with Murray_._ And I'll bet the last time you knew any kind of contentment was with Elaine_, _sometime way back_. _Think, Guybrush_. _Isn't that what you really want_? _Elaine at your side and your little girl in your arms_?

Yes...that was all he really wanted. That was all he had ever wanted, really.

_Well, I want Murray_..._and the Cucumber_..._and sunlight on my face_. _And I want to see my niece grow up_. _And I want more than almost all of that to see you again, face to face_

I lose out to something on that list?

_Yes._ She didn't elaborate.

_I will help you, all that I can_, she continued. _But this is the last time I'll be able to speak to you, until all of this is over and done_

Until then, Setti.

_Don't push it, Guy_

I'll meet you on top of Big Whoop's corpse.

_I'll be waiting_. _Just don't you dare give up on me, Guybrush_._ A lot of people here are counting on you_

Until we meet again, Chari.

_Until then_

* * *

Instinctively, she knew that this was the first, last, and only time she would be able to touch him, and so she held on until the very last minute. Only when she sensed that he was waking up did she break the embrace, feeling that she tore her heart out and left it lying there. The thin rope of white, the remains of her tears, she carefully wove into a small braid and left it around his neck. In it she left the memories of the spirit world, of Angus and her parents, that she was making plans and not to give up. She also added a touch of power from the Amulet, for healing. She could sense what was ahead of him, and knew he would need it.

"Time to let go, Chariset-dearest," Angus said as softly as he possibly could. "You've given him all you can. It's time for him to make his own story."

She knew all that, but it took every ounce of her will to obey. The moment was cruel for its weight of regret, of things left unsaid or undone, things she had no time left to do. All she could do now was let him go.

She leaned in as close as she dared, actually submerging her head and shoulders in a final, desperate embrace. "Goodbye," she whispered before breaking away. "You're a Threepwood. Do us all proud."

She came up out of the water and pulled the focus away, climbing high, rising into the clouds. She made herself look down as the diminishing figure of her brother stirred and opened his eyes.

Driven by some instinct, he shakily sat up and lifted his face to the sky. From the world of the living he locked eyes with her in the world of the dead--

--and in that second she shattered the image, breaking it into fragments. She stared at the dead woman in the water for two seconds, gasped a shaky breath of air--then leaped up and fled the grove. She ran blindly to her parents' house and didn't stop until she collided with her mother. Sobbing hard, Chariset hugged her convulsively and cried until she was out of tears. For the first time, it had really hit home that she was dead--and everything she had ever known was dead to her. She had never known until she herself died that the departed could grieve for the living.

In the face of her overwhelming loss, even the fact that she had schemes and plans was dust. She just wanted Guybrush back. And Murray. And sunlight.

_You'll have all of those things_, she tried to tell herself. _Don't give up_.

But not relapsing into despair was the hardest thing in the world to do right now, harder even than facing down Big Whoop...

* * *

  
Guybrush opened his eyes, puzzled by the memory of a strange dream. He couldn't remember the details beyond a vague sense that Chari had been here, talking to him. He looked up, puzzled, certain that, for an instant, he had seen her eyes in the clouds, but they were gone.

With a groan, he forced himself up to his feet, staggering towards the center of the island, where there was a spring of water he'd been avoiding for days. First things first...some water..some food..and then to get off this island and find the Voodoo Priestess. Then he would find some way to return to Monkey Island, threat or no threat, and destroy the curse on his family, once and for all. He was going to be there when his daughter was born, come Hell, high water, or Big Whoop.


	2. A Stolen Reunion

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter 1: A Stolen Reunion

  


* * *

  
  
Gray dusk had slipped into brilliantly silver night as Chariset sat against one of the outer pillars of her Greek temple and looked up at the black moon. She had coaxed a few additions into her environs of late--more bushes and small trees, a low hedge, various night-blooming flowers with sweet perfume, and a small fountain which trickled noisily into a waiting pool. The central figure was a short man in a large toga, wearing a monocle. He was holding an armload of rolled maps which were in the process of getting away from him--from each dangling end trailed a stream of water. She found her little cartographer-fountain amusing, though she doubted the original would feel the same way about it.

Songbirds and swallows flitted in and out among the columns, singing in the bushes. Long hours spent motionless in front of the Gazing Pool in the center of the forest had convinced the wild spirit-creatures that she was harmless. Two days ago, some of the birds had actually come to perch in the willows surrounding her as she watched events unfold below. Yesterday, a handful followed her back to her tiny domain. They were a slightly poignant reminder of Elijah, her scarlet parrot in the world of the living, but they were also company, just as she suspected she was company to them. So she saw to it that her bushes had spirit-berries on them, and they responded by filling her little home with song. She thought they had a good bargain.

Angus was sitting in mid-air just over her roof, his feet dangling to either side of her own position. She didn't like to think about how far he towered over her, but he, like the little birds, was good company. At present, she was listening to his version of the Threepwood family history while resting from her latest efforts to defeat Big Whoop and return to her true home. All the watching somehow drained the excess substance from her spirit-form--she needed experiences and memories in order to build up the kind of mass she was going to need to make her plan work....

Angus Traaephood was Welsh, but the Threepwood family was one of almost all European nationalities, from Spanish to English to French to Italian. The version of the name Chariset was familiar with was actually Scottish. In fact, a near-legendary married couple of the Scottish Threepwoods had lived to a ripe old age, and one had actually died of natural causes before Big Whoop's curse caught up with them. The remaining member, the wife Casheryn, had been the first to suicide in the woods. Perhaps some part of her remained in these songbirds. However, while she had lived she had been a fiery-haired woman of equally fiery spirit. Once she and her mother, Terese came to visit a jail where her father Ferdinand was imprisoned, on the pretense of bringing him food. However, once out of the guards' sight, she and her father exchanged clothing, and he left disguised as his daughter. Once the error was discovered, Casheryn expected the worst, but the guards were more amused than angry and let her go. Chariset had to admire this kind of bravery.

"She was never meant for this world, any more than you are, la. But, unlike you, she had no way to escape, and so her spirit died as well."

"How sad," was all Chariset could manage, feeling strangely guilty.

"Now, myself, I was meant for this world. When I arrived, I just knew that this was the place, and I started over from here." His tone was oddly strained.

"Angus..." Chariset did something she rarely did--she moved in a way that would have been physically impossible on Earth. She raised herself from the ground, soaring up to hover at his eye-level. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself for what happened centuries ago?"

"Oh, la," Angus actually seemed close to tears. "I cana help it. You shouldn't be here. _They_ shouldn't be here." His gesture took in the entire sad land, under the glistening night sky. "If I'd just been a little more responsible, none of this would ever ha' happened. The Traaephood family might have been a flourishing name, not a tiny branch down to two last members and one unborn chile..."

"And I would never have met you."

"Chari-la, I'm proud of you, never doubt't. But I would rather have watched you live a full and happy life from Heaven than meet you down in Hell."

She allowed just a thread of scorn to color her voice. "And of course you deliberately and with full knowledge overworked the daemon that became Big Whoop, just to put us all down here..."

Angus blinked at her, puzzled, and she pressed on. "Maybe we're all stuck here, but so are you. You've been here longer than anyone else. You were here before anyone else was."

"And that's the way it should be, la."

"According to Big Whoop's rules."

"Right."

"But why does he have the right to make the rules? The law isn't on his side."

"How do you mean, la?"

"Well, suppose he was in the right to punish _you_. You wronged him, so maybe a case could be made. But he extended the punishment out to every Traaephood or Threepwood alive--that's not within his rights. The punishment doesn't fit the crime."

He blinked as though this had never occurred to him--or as if no one had ever thought to put it this way.

"But if you want to talk guilt, I think you take on too much. I get the sense you feel you're personally responsible for every time one more person enters this world, and so you deserve the pain." This next part was tricky...she would have to be careful with her wording. "But if Big Whoop isn't doing this out of any sense of justice....if he's just holding a grudge...then how can _you_ be the cause of all this suffering? Aren't you just a victim like the rest of us, a victim who is being made to feel guilty for the very reason he's suffering?"

"La, I...I don't know.." He didn't seem able to grasp this concept...quite.

She hovered closer and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Angus, for what it's worth, _I_ don't blame you for this. You didn't know what would happen to your family. But Big Whoop does, and did. If he has a soul, I'll happily put all the blame on it, not on you. You are the noblest person here, in my opinion."

He actually blushed, which was amusing since she was about the size of Tinkerbell to him. "More than your parents, la?"

"My parents...." She sighed. "My parents don't seem to understand why I'm so fixated on life. They want me to settle in and get used to this world."

"Ah, yes...Ardel and Keith Threepwood. They were always quick to adjust."

She shook her head, frowning. "That's so unlike them. I never knew them when they were adventurers, but neither of them were great conformists."

"Death is an event that greatly changes the personality sometimes, la."

She settled on the roof, relieved that her hair was finally getting long enough for what she had in mind. She had just begun to braid it when her parents appeared below.

"Speak of the devil," Angus murmured.

"Chariset, dear? Are you still up there?" This was from her mother.

"Yes, Mom," she called back.

"It's really not good for you to be up there all the time, Chari. You should come down and talk to your relatives. All that brooding can't be healthy."

She fought down a snort of disgust and tried to sound reasonable. "Mom, I'm _dead_. What more could happen to me? My health really can't get any worse."

"Is that the way you should talk to your mother, Chariset?" Dad to the rescue.

She committed another physical impossibility and leaped down from the roof, eyes angry. "Mom, Dad, I will always love you dearly, but we're all _dead_ here. More than that, I'm a full-grown adult and I have been ever since you left, almost five years ago now. You forced Guybrush and me to become grown-up long before we were ready to...now we have. You can't come to me now that I'm dead and expect me to go back to being your little girl again."

"Now Catherine..."

"'Now Catherine' nothing. You relinquished the right to rule my life when you left us. I won't let you rule my afterlife."

"But we're your parents!" Her mother approached her, arms wide, and instinctively she backed away, not wanting them to touch her.

"You were my parents when we were alive and I was a little girl," she replied making her voice cold. "But I'm a woman now. And you are no more to me than anyone else here, even if I was your daughter in life. We're just dead people, you and I, nothing more."

"Chari--" began Ardel Threepwood, face and voice imploring.

"Don't listen to her, dear," interrupted her father. "It's just the grief talking. Come on." He put an arm around his wife and turned to his daughter with Total Understanding written all over his face. "Chari, hon, if you don't want us to call you by your real name, that's okay. We know you're just upset at being dead. You spend some time alone, maybe have a good cry, and then come down and talk, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer.

Chariset stared at their departing backs in puzzled frustration. "They've never called me 'Catherine' since I was a toddler. What's going on here?"

"They seem like the stereotypical concerned parents ta me, la," commented Angus from above.

"I know...that's what's so odd. They're acting completely out of character. It's almost as though they're two completely different people."

"It's like I tol' ya, la. Death changes people."

"Yeah, no kidding." She shook her head, slipped into the quiet environs of her temple, and began the first step in her plan for freedom.

* * *

  
Big Whoop reclined in his throne, feeling relaxed and pleased. He had finally arranged his throne room to suit him--bone furnishings everywhere from his expendable skeleton soldiers (in other words, all of them), thick and irregular stone pillars supporting the ceiling, candles burning with an eerie green-gold light. Around the room were some furnishings designed for humans as well, complete with two shallow alcoves containing beds. Pillows scattered around the walls served as beds for the other human occupants.

Asleep in one bed was a red-haired human woman, Elaine Threepwood, over four months pregnant with the very last of the Threepwood line. He was seeing to her health very carefully, ensuring that she had enough to eat, plenty of rest and exercise, and several human attendants to wait on her every need. She was important to his plans, at least at this stage.

The other alcove was occupied with a man named Murray, no known last name. He was a bodyguard for Elaine and Big Whoop's lookout, making a daily sweep of the island for incoming ships or wanderers afoot. He was vigilant and did his job with all the enthusiasm a charmed being could muster. Big Whoop himself had very little to do even in the way of day-to-day housekeeping, thanks to the efforts of his other two servants, Largo LaGrande and Horace Deadeyes. They were both from checkered pasts to say the least, but, thanks to Big Whoop's Song of Calling, they were as loyal as he could ever have wished.

At present, it was Largo's turn to sleep while Horace remained standing by. Thanks to another subtle Song, the Song of Listening, he was able to maintain contact with Big Whoop's various operatives (undead or simulacra formed from his own lava-substance) and act as herald for them when they wished to report in person. As now.

Big Whoop was currently in the middle of a long discussion with three or four operatives, currently orchestrating the destruction of all which had been dear to the Caribbean Threepwoods. This was the last phase of Big Whoop's revenge on a given member of that hated family, but the one he enjoyed the most.

One of the Little Whoops was indirectly prodding and encouraging a certain corrupt Governor of the island named for him, Phatt, into mobilizing his navy and devouring the Tri-Island Area formerly governed by Elaine. The man was as greedy as the figurative pig (and strongly resembled same) and could surely exhaust every resource from Melee, Booty, and Plunder before tiring. Elaine's power as Governor was severely weakened thanks to Big Whoop's former efforts (a series of notes indicating that she was not fit to govern) and her public departure from Plunder Island on very short notice. Her Lieutenant-Governor, Guybrush Threepwood, and all her soldier-sailors, had also left on the same ship without setting anyone else in charge. Plunder was open for armed attack, and when it fell, the other two would come under Phatt's control as well.

Two more of his agents had insinuated themselves into a large (and active) volcano on Blood Island and were trying to persuade the resident volcano god, Sherman, into a violent eruption which would destroy the island and its chief family, the Goodsoups. This family, though harmless enough, had adopted Guybrush as a sort of honorary member, and that was enough to merit their destruction in Big Whoop's eyes. They were meeting with difficulty, however, as Sherman had nothing against the Goodsoups and actually rather liked them. Big Whoop might have to travel to Blood Island himself to deal with this 'Sherman' personally.

Myth Island--for helping the Threepwoods create the famous Mask of Medusa (now destroyed) which had been instrumental in defeating LeChuck, and because the Feed twins, Wally and Holly, lived there (both of whom were guilty of aiding and abetting the Threepwood twins). Sable Island, the home of the mysterious Necromancer and his lethal Amulet. Scabb Island, where a ferryman who once helped Guybrush and Chariset had set up shop. And finally Dinky Island, just because.

The only island Big Whoop planned to leave intact which had influenced the Threepwoods in any way was the island on which he had exiled Guybrush. He needed to leave the man alive, at least for now.

Best of all, his two operatives in the land of the dead reported that his newest addition to his little community was settling down nicely--was overcome with grief, in fact, and showed no signs of recovery soon, though she was keeping her distance from them. According to their report, she had done nothing but brood on her temple and nervously braid and rebraid her hair. Perhaps she had gone insane. Whatever the reason, he hadn't felt the drain of energy which indicated that a spirit had passed through into this world since she entered it. Perhaps she had sensibly decided to listen to her beloved parents, accepted her fate, and given up. It had happened before.

Big Whoop was growing restless. He had enough simulacra to sing for his little birds while he took a brief walk around the Caribbean to see his plans completed in person. This was his greatest regret--he had to have everything accomplished through intermediaries. But perhaps he could burst out of the Blood Island volcano himself and destroy the hateful Hotel de Goodsoup personally...

He debated, but the decision was already made. Leaving a spike of lava in the center of the throne to sing the Song of Calling, he carefully set a ward around his lair and sank deep into the molten rock beneath the sea, flowing as fast as thought toward the Blood Island volcano.

* * *

  
She could hardly believe that her window of opportunity had come so soon, but she was going to take advantage of it.

Chariset looked down on the two ships docked below, in the shelter of the Monkey Island harbor. Spying through the wood of the deck, she saw the crew of each, all asleep. Poor security policy. Eight men on one ship, seven on the other...fifteen total. She looked at the small pile of items next to her, made a quick count..yes..all nineteen were there. Down she swooped, silent as an owl, to hover over the head of the first man on the first ship.

Gently, she picked up a small circlet from the stack and slipped it over his head. It was a collar of braided hair--her hair--with a tiny glowing stone in front. Her substance. Her memory. And the memory contained within was the sound of the Song of Awakening, with a tiny speck of the Amulet's stone for extra protection.

She did not want him to wake up. He did not. She moved on to the next man.

The _Seahorse_ lay quiet behind her, waiting for her command to awaken. She hovered over the _Sea Cucumber_, drifted among the sailors. Eight more collars. All was going well.

She held the four remaining collars in her hands and through them willed the memory contained in the fifteen to awaken. In one instant, fifteen men awakened at once and looked around them, bewildered.

_Be still_, she sent. _Wait_. _I will send your Captains to you shortly_. _But you must be ready to sail on a moment's notice_.

They responded at once, rushing on deck in a manner that was busy yet bewildered. It was a credit to their discipline that they responded instantly, but it was greater credit to their instincts that they kept the lights low and voices hushed. All seemed to be well. She fled into the mountain itself.

Around the throne room, she sensed a wall of blue-green power. It didn't hamper her access through the Gazing Pool, though it did seem to know she was there. Time was of the essence now.

She slipped two more ordinary collars over the heads of Horace and Largo, then paused long enough to sort the last two out. Both had slightly larger braids, because they contained the memories she had taken from Guybrush of the pregnancy, Big Whoop's plans for their daughter, the fate of the Threepwood family, and the outline of the island on which he was imprisoned. They also held more of the Amulet's power. One glowed 'pink' to her spirit-eyes, the other glowed 'blue.'

She tried not to look at Murray as she placed his blue collar around his neck, settling it on his shoulders with all the time she could spare. This was no time for distraction, not even by him. Lingering too long here might cost her all hope of reunion in the land of the living.

She darted away, quick as a trout, and lifted Elaine's head so she could slip the other braid over it. This was it. If her plan was to succeed or fail, she would know now.

Chariset withdrew all of herself from the living world and willed the collars to life.

* * *

  
Horace leaped to his feet as if stung, Largo likewise. Elaine shot out of bed and then staggered, hands to her temples as she tried to absorb the weight of a load of new memories at once.

_I'm pregnant?_

_Where am I? Where's Guybrush?_

Then a new line of thought, tinged with urgency. _I'm a prisoner and this is a breakout_.

That was all she really needed to know.

"Come on, Murray, Largo, Deadeyes! We're getting out of here!" She grabbed the disoriented Murray and hauled him roughly towards the only exit, shoving him along before her. Largo and Horace had already hit their stride and were in a full run across the threshold.

No skeletons appeared to stop them, no roar of outrage exploded from the throne. Elaine didn't pause to wonder about their good fortune--pirate instinct insisted that it was run now or hesitate and be lost. She ran.

A blue-green wall was the only obstacle between themselves and freedom. "We can make it," she yelled, setting her shoulder into Horace and shoving him on by brute force as he faltered and tried to slow.

Had it not been for the Amulet stones, all four would have hit the barrier and fallen back, but they ran through unimpeded. Largo, Horace, Murray, now Elaine stretched her legs to the utmost and sprang across-

-and felt a jolt, a slight backwards tug from someplace deep in her gut. She staggered, stumbled, nearly fell, but caught her stride and ran on.

Up the ramp, into rowboats, and onto their ships. They raised the sails, hoisted anchor, and were gone before dawn. To Myth Island, to pay a visit to a certain cartographer....

_If this is a dream, may I die before I wake up_... _Whatever happens, I'm not going back to the darkness again_.

* * *

  
Chariset, unable to believe that her rescue mission had succeeded without a hitch, stared at the blank pool for almost half an hour before breaking out of her trance and stumbling back to her temple, drained to a thin gray slip of her usual self. Her parents watched her unsteady progress through the gray with thinned lips and unhappy expressions, but she was in no state to care. It had worked.

Now maybe there was hope for the rest of them...

* * *

  
Meanwhile, on the little circle of land Guybrush was beginning to call Two-Tone Island, the hero of the series was making a careful exploration of his prison.

It was far larger than he had first imagined, and roughly diamond-shaped, crowned with an inactive volcano. Standing atop this central mountain (after a lengthy climb) he could see that the lava floes had run primarily down the west side of the island, eventually weathering down into black rock and black sand. The other side had sand which was the usual white, creating an unusual look. Two-toned.

It was a tropical forest, as usual, full of trees and wildlife, including monkeys, birds, various reptiles and some fish humans had never disturbed, so they were almost too tame. He was just lucky he'd taken to carrying some essentials around with him, such as a small knife and a fire-starting kit, so he could have roasted fish. The large yellow kind were bitter, but the smaller bluish variety were excellent. Eating his own cooking was starting to get old, but at least he had some protein, something to vary his current diet of fruit. If he never saw another banana again, it would be too soon.

The sky was darkening, signaling the end of the day's exploration, but he was in no hurry to return to camp and gut another salty fish. Instead he leaned on a tree, contemplating the land below without really seeing it. Two months here--it seemed like only a fraction of that time. He really had quite a collection of memory lapses by now, Guybrush reflected wryly.

Not that this was a perfect blank--he knew he had lost at least an entire month, occupied with wandering up and down the black side of the beach, lost in a daze of grief and loss, intermixed with sporadic attempts at suicide. He leaped off a cliff, only to land in soft sand ten feet down because his depth perception thrown entirely off-kilter. He drank sea water, trying to go insane, and only heard monkeys chattering in his ears for nights on end. He resolved to drown, but got bored after five minutes and resurfaced. He ate and drank nothing--but the entire next week it poured rain non-stop, leaving him hungry but still very much alive. But this time, he persisted, avoiding water for days, until finally he collapsed on the beach one afternoon--where Chariset found him. If he had remembered the knife he was carrying around, perhaps it would have been too late.

_And she would have been furious with me, once she caught up with me_.

But now he knew that she knew where he was--it was only a matter of time before someone got him off the island. Then he was going to find the Voodoo Lady on Plunder Island and rescue his family.

Guybrush gave in to his growing restlessness and paced, thinking hard.

If I've got the story straight, LeChuck was my uncle all along--how could she not have known that? And he was under Big Whoop's control the entire time, delivering pirates over to him to create an undead army. LeChuck was nothing more than a tool, sent out to make my life miserable. Chari's too, once she came to Big Whoop's attention. Before him, there was probably someone else to harass my parents, and before them, someone else. For all I know, every enemy I've ever had was controlled by Big Whoop.

Egotistical, but there it was. Guybrush changed directions, still thinking.

But that assumes no one is corrupt on his own. LeChuck might have been evil by nature--he's family, but that doesn't necessarily matter. He might have been the kind to be corrupted by magic, even without Big Whoop's help. Like Largo--he might just have been a man with a petty spirit. Chari had power, but she didn't let it corrupt _her_.

The memory of his sister reminded him of his yet-unborn daughter, whose future self was going to come after him and kill him unless Guybrush could somehow save Elaine before her baby was born. Odia--a girl named 'hatred...'

He couldn't let that happen. He had to get off this island. About five months from now, his baby girl would be Big Whoop's to raise. And Elaine....Elaine would probably be dead. He had to find the Voodoo Priestess.

_I hope she knows how to make another Am_--_hello, what's this?_

Guybrush peered into the western sky, scanning the seascape below. He'd thought he'd seen...yes..there it was. A black, irregular shape on the horizon, difficult to make out because of the glare of the setting sun. He squinted against the reflected light, but it was impossible to determine the shape. It could only be a ship, but whose? And was it coming this way?

He stared into the gold light until green afterimages burned into his eyes and he could hardly see. Blinking in a vain effort to clear them more quickly, he dropped his gaze and waited, safely hidden among the trees on the westward side of the island, cursing himself under his breath for getting his hopes up. The odds were ten to one that this ship was what he was hoping for. It could be a passer-by. It could be a band of pirates who might or might not mean him any good. It could be René Rottingham--hadn't Chari said she sent him to the ends of the Caribbean? It could be one of those accursed cruise ships, full of tourists.

It could be Odia, magically aged to adulthood, come to kill him...

The sun set with unusual sloth. Guybrush had to restrain himself from pacing again as the shape grew larger, unmistakably a large ship, equally unmistakably headed for this island. What was more, the closer it came, the more it began to look like not just one ship, but two.

The sun finally sank below the horizon, casting the profiles of the two ships into sharp black relief against the orange sky. But the sky continued to tease him--it still cast no light on the ships themselves, deliberately not illuminating any kind of flag or identifying marking. All he could see without revealing himself completely was that they were frigates at full sail, running before the wind.

The ships drew up to the island, slowed, glided into the island's shallow harbor and dropped anchor. Only then did one drift broadside to his position, revealing her colors.

He froze in place. _Green and gold_.

She was the _Sea Cucumber_. And with her, the other ship, was the _Seahorse_.

He actually forgot to breathe as the crew disembarked, revealing a full crew of sailors each, plus a few more. A woman with fire for hair, blazing auburn curls, stepped into the boat on the _Seahorse_ side, while a thin man with nondescript brown hair climbed down from the_ Sea Cucumber_. Murray.

Elaine.

Even while his heart did a strange little leap, he felt a cold terror at the sight of her red hair. Big Whoop would never let her go. What was she doing here?

Concealed in the jungle, torn between longing and fear, he forced himself to remain where he was, watching them come in to the shore. But once they were on sand, he gave in to his need to _move_, slipping through the trees toward them, trying to be quiet while probably being as stealthy as a charging rhinoceros.

They were wandering on the beach, on the light side of the island. He crouched down among the bushes and peered out, listening.

"Are you sure this is the right island?" That was Elaine, sounding worried. "There's no sign of him."

"Oh, I'm sure, all right. The outline you drew was just classic...it had to be this island." Guybrush blinked, wide-eyed. The voice was male, with a trace of British accent, and familiar. He ventured a peek through the trees and nearly fell over with astonishment. _Wally_!

He wanted nothing more than to run out there and reveal himself, but even now he couldn't quite be sure. What if it were a trap?

_What if they **leave**_? _You want to be stuck here forever_? _Chari must have sent them_!

Elaine wandered further down the beach, while Murray paced in the other direction, so close Guybrush could have reached out and touched him. "Guybrush! Are you here?"

Wally joined in. "Mr. Brush! We've come to look for you! Your sister sent us!"

His resolve nearly broke, but he gritted his teeth and stayed put. _That's what Big Whoop would have told them to say_.

:_Guybrush, get out there_.:

He whipped his head around and saw _her_. Chariset. She was nothing more than a face in the shadows, dimly lit, but she was visible. "Chari..." he breathed. "You really are alive."

She glanced behind her, as though expecting to be interrupted. :_I can't stay--it's against the rules_._ But it's safe for you to come out_. _I helped them escape from Big Whoop's lair, they got Wally to draw a map of this place, and came right here_. _Go on_. _Elaine's worried about you_.:

He would have responded, but she vanished. Another hallucination?

_No_...._if she wasn't real and this is all a trap, what good is life to me anyhow_? _I just want to be with Elaine_...

He stood up slowly and stepped out into the open. "Elaine," he called out hoarsely, speaking with a voice that hadn't been used much lately. "Plunder Bunny, I'm here."

She whirled around, and the expression of absolutely incredulous joy on her face was suddenly worth every moment of pain or fear he had ever known because of her. Feeling unexpectedly weak in the knees, he managed only a few forward steps before she barreled into him with enough force to knock him to the sand.

"Guybrush! Oh, thank God! I was so afraid you were dead!" she babbled into his shirt, while he finally managed to sit up and get his arms around her properly. The familiar texture of her hair was enough to erase the last of his doubts.

"It's really you," he croaked. "I can't believe it."

"It's really me," she said in a tone close to a sob. "And I'm never leaving you again. Never."

He was beginning to feel damp-eyed himself. "Elaine, I used to lie awake at night, just dreaming about you," he said into her hair. "I've been so afraid for you. I was sure I'd never see you again."

The entire crowd--Holly, Wally, Largo, Murray, and the rest--was gathering around them at this point, but neither noticed. "Every star was your eyes," he continued, while his shoulder became suspiciously damp. "I couldn't sleep....all I could think about was how I left you in the hands of that monster.."

"That monster had just better watch out," she growled indistinctly, raising her head from his shoulder to give him her second-best scowl. "Because once we get back to Plunder Island, I'm going after him."

And her expression, tear-streaked though it was, was enough give even him a chill. Big Whoop was about to learn not to cross Elaine Threepwood.

"We'll all go after him. You and I....and our little girl."

Her expression softened into something meltingly warm, sweeter than he had ever seen before, but somehow timid. "You know?"

"I know. We're going to have a baby."

The crowd of onlookers, sensing sappiness, were beginning to drift away. "And..?"

"And I couldn't think of any better reason to get rid of Big Whoop, once and for all."

She hesitated, and he sensed that her head was satisfied, but her heart was hoping for a little more convincing. So naturally, as a good husband should, he drew her close and began to explain exactly how overjoyed he was, omitting not a single detail--

--non-verbally..

More mushy and romantic stuff followed in due course, but I see no reason to narrate that.....

* * *

  
Elaine's pregnancy was beginning to be pronounced when they finally arrived at Plunder Island, a few weeks later. The Voodoo Priestess was just as clearly delighted to see them again.

Guybrush had been planning an angry tirade for most of the journey, but she cut him smoothly off with "Elaine! I see you are expecting a child. Congratulations."

Since he was already coming to care for their little girl more than the moon and stars, Guybrush held his peace, hoping the priestess could give them more information. "A daughter," Elaine began. "But it's a long story."

"Can you tell us anything about her?" he added. "We've had some predictions about her life that are....disturbing."

"Hmm...let me see." She beckoned Elaine closer and laid her hands on her abdomen, eyes closed in concentration. Suddenly they flicked open. "How very odd..."

"What?" asked Guybrush.

"What is it?" Elaine, simultaneously.

She ignored them and must have done another reading. This time both parents sensed trouble in her slump-shouldered posture. "What's wrong?" Elaine repeated nervously.

The priestess looked at them with such sad reluctance that Guybrush instantly knew she was about to tell them something terrible. "Tell us," he insisted.

"Your daughter....she's perfectly healthy, developing just the way she should. But.."

"But?" chorused Guybrush and Elaine.

"But.....by this time in the pregnancy, she should have a spirit, a soul. But she has nothing... She has no soul, no living spirit at all."

The floor dropped out from under his feet as he and his wife locked eyes in pure horror.   
"Big Whoop," whispered Elaine. "She's still in Monkey Island, in his prison. When I ran over that barrier, I thought I felt....what are we going to do? Big Whoop has our baby!"

_Big Whoop has the soul of our daughter_. Guybrush felt for a second that he was going to faint. _She could still be Odia_. _He could still make her spirit evil_.

"Tell us!" he demanded of the priestess, hands knotted into fists. "Tell us what we can do to get her back!"

"There is nothing I can tell you," she whispered sadly. "At the end of her term, Elaine will deliver a baby without a soul, a baby who will die probably within minutes of her birth, and nothing I can say or do will make the difference."

Big Whoop's words echoed in his mind. _I have your daughter_. _I have your sister_. _Feast on defeat, Threepwood_.....

"No. I refuse to believe that."

"Isn't there some way to go back to Monkey Island and get her spirit back?" Elaine pleaded. It was the first time Guybrush had seen her beg for anything.

The priestess seemed to sigh, though her face was as impassive as ever. "_If_ you could make it down to Big Whoop's lair, and _if_ she were willing to return, you could do it. But I do not think she will be willing to come back to the body of a baby, not now.."

"Why not now?" he demanded.

"Because Big Whoop has already offered her more power than she has ever dreamed," the priestess responded, causing a large pot to rise out of the floor with a gesture of her hand. "Look."

In the water was Big Whoop, holding the hand of a dark-haired child. She was squealing happily as she stomped her foot down, sending lava spurting up out of the ground. Elaine took his hand and groaned. Guybrush felt sick inside.

Another scene...the girl was in her teens, standing on top of the Blood Island volcano. She raised both arms in what looked like a temper tantrum--and the volcano responded. She laughed in delight as it erupted around her, spilling lava everywhere. Below, in the hotel, men and women ran in all directions, trying to avoid the flow, only to reach the edge of the ocean, where there was no escape.... The girl laughed again.

The third and final scene--a black-haired woman faced a young couple, holding hands. They pleaded with her to come home, but she spat in the man's face. Behind the couple was an army of men and women, forms insubstantial. Another woman led the attack, tears in her eyes, holding a seltzer bottle of some brown liquid. Root beer.

She confronted the woman and aimed the bottle. The couple below cried out in pain and tried to stop her, but she closed her ears and depressed the plunger. A spray of liquid snaked out--but the woman raised her hand and stopped the flow in mid-air. She blew casually on the stream, and the liquid flew back to cover the attacking spirit-woman, who cried out in agony before dissolving into nothing. Then the woman raised her arms, and burning rain fell from the sky, over the couple, over the spirits, root beer mixed with fire, until the entire world burned. And she laughed.

"Enough," cried a strangled voice he belatedly realized was Elaine's.

"None of this has happened yet," said the priestess. "But if Big Whoop's influence over the girl continues, she will surely become as evil as her tutor."

"Then we have to destroy Big Whoop."

"His power is far too strong for you, Guybrush. He has more magic than you could ever dream, stolen from his victims for centuries. You could not confront him directly and survive."

Elaine had been staring sightlessly at the ground, but now she looked up sharply, eyes bright. "Where does Big Whoop get his power?" she asked slowly.

"Why, from--" the woman halted, thinking. "From the voodoo spirit of the island itself."

"The island's magic," Elaine responded, even more slowly. "I thought that was just a legend."

"Wait a minute..." Guybrush fought to pin down an elusive idea. No, a memory. "Someone told me....something Big Whoop said...about magic. He said...that all magic has a price. You can't use and use it without paying something in return."

"He was very right," responded the Voodoo Priestess.

"Exactly! He's been stealing from the island itself!" burst out Elaine. "But for some reason, he hasn't paid for any of it."

The priestess shook her head. "But that's impossible. The island would have realized long ago that Big Whoop was stealing power and taken some action."

Guybrush thought of something else. "Could the price of the magic come from other people?"

The priestess pondered. "It's not the white magic way to do it, but it can happen. Why?"

"The Threepwoods!" Elaine made the leap to the logical conclusion faster than he'd expected.

The priestess looked puzzled, so he gave her a condensed version of the story. "Every Threepwood ancestor, including Chari, is inside Monkey Island," he finished. "Big Whoop claims that this is his revenge, but maybe it's just his way of paying for all the power he's stolen over the years."

"So if the voodoo spirit knew he was being cheated...." Elaine began.

"...he might react. He might even steal all of Big Whoop's power." The priestess looked thoughtful. "He might even take the power back retroactively."

"What would that do?" Guybrush asked.

"It would be as though Big Whoop had never existed."

"But....what would happen to us?"

"I do not know. That might be a chance you would just have to take."

"So we need to know where to find the voodoo spirit of the island, first..."

"Ask the Cannibals. Lemonhead should know."

"But what about Chariset and Guybrush's family?"

"If you can wait until tomorrow, the Necromancer will be here. But I'm warning you, resurrection spells tend to be fairly gray magic, if not actually black."

"How gray?" Guybrush and Elaine exchanged nervous glances.

"To raise the dead, often they require a sacrifice.."

_A sacrifice_. He cleared his throat nervously. "You see the future...is there any way we can make it to Monkey Island and back and save everyone?"

She closed her eyes. "I see you freeing every member of your family....save two. Two must be sacrificed in order to defeat Big Whoop and restore the Threepwood name."

"Do you see who they are?"

"Yes."

"Wh--"

"No, Guybrush," Elaine cut in. "Don't ask. If you know, we might not want to go...and this is too important."

"But what if one of the two is you? Or our little girl?"

She met his eyes with calm resolution. "Our baby is dead even if we stay. And if it's me...well...then it's me. I made my decision a long time ago that I would put my life in front of yours..."

"Oh, Elaine...I don't deserve you."

"You're an adventurer...you risk your life every day. Why shouldn't I risk mine?" She spoke with a smile, but her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. As were his.

"This is my life. This is my home, and my husband, and my baby. I'll die for you. But more than that I want to live for you. So that's why we're going."

He had no response to that. _But if anyone is sacrificed, let it be me_...


	3. Discussions, Plots, Plans

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter Two: Discussions, Plots, Plans

* * *

Guybrush slipped out of the bed into early morning chill, trying not to wince as his bare feet came into contact with a _cold_ stone floor. Still in the warm security of the blankets, Elaine murmured something and proceeded to steal the covers he had just vacated. He envied her fiercely for half a second, then sighed stoically, grabbed his robe, and began working on a fire.

The mansion was echoingly empty this time of morning, when the light was still gray and the birdsongs were the loudest sounds on the air. He built up the fire to a comfortable blaze, then made a quick run to the other side of the room (through a region of progressively colder air) to the chest of drawers. He seized a pair of his usual gray short pants, a loose-sleeved shirt, and a few other essentials, then back to the fire to dress as quickly as absolutely possible. Two stockings, one boot....where was the other one? Oh, there.... A belt. He took his blue pirate coat down from a hook in the back of his closet, shaking it slightly in a vain attempt to dislodge the wrinkles. Feeling a little more prepared to face the day (if not much warmer) he found a candle and vanished down to the kitchen.

He was up before even the servants today, so he had to build a second fire in the big iron cookstove before he could heat some water for the morning cup of tea. Food supplies were unusually scanty, but he managed to find a small loaf of bread, slice and butter it, and carry the whole arrangement upstairs on a tray. The familiarity of the morning routine had the paradoxical effect of clearing out his mind yet occupying most of his thoughts, with the result that he was very deep in musing by the time he finished his own breakfast and left the rest near the fire for Elaine to find.

He parted the curtains a crack, slipped through, opened the balcony doors, and stepped outside to see the sunrise--and there, on the balcony rail, was a green parrot.

He recoiled instinctively. "You again. What do you want this time?"

The bird blinked at him, innocently...and he saw that she had no message on her leg. Now what was she doing here if not--?

"Bwaaaaaack! Gone! Gone gone gone gone!" The horrible wailing croak of a voice just barely preceded its owner, as a red parrot at full speed swooped over the balcony. Elijah was as distraught as Guybrush had ever seen him.

_Elijah_?

Before any more thoughts could register, the bird cannoned into him, wings spread wide at he landed. They fell over his shoulders in an odd sort of bird-embrace. He made no attempt to cling with his feet--Guybrush had to wrap his arms around him to keep him from falling to the ground.

"Gone," the parrot wailed in his ear. "She gone! Gone gone gone gone!"

_She_. _Parrot_. **_Chariset_**.

_Odia_.

The memory he had been holding off all morning came flooding back. "She's gone," he agreed, stroking the bird's brilliant dorsal feathers. He'd never thought he'd ever hug a parrot, but poor Elijah sounded completely heartbroken. "We're going to get them all back," he added, wondering how much the bird could understand.

He not only understood, he perked up instantly. His black bead eyes fixed on the (ex?) pirate's face. "You promise?"

Guybrush would have laughed, but Elijah was completely serious. He set the parrot down on the balcony rail, placed one hand over his heart, and recited, "I swear that I will rescue my family or die trying." He dropped the hand and rocked his head to one side. "And that includes the girl you seem to be in love with."

"Not funny Brush," Elijah replied huffily. The glowing collar of braided hair on his chest was evidence that Chariset had been busy indeed--probably the reason he had found Guybrush in the first place.

He knelt down until he was at the parrot's eye-level. "I'm serious, Elijah. Big Whoop finally stole the wrong person for his little collection. Last time we underestimated him, but this time I think he underestimated _us_."

"I help," promised the scarlet parrot. Farther down the wall, Polly whistled agreement.

"Good. I think we'll need you," replied Guybrush, straightening up. He ducked through the curtain again to wake Elaine up, both parrots flying in behind him. They had a long day ahead of them.

* * *

  
A wind was rising in the land of the dead. Chariset shivered at the unfamiliar sensation of moving air at the back of her neck--her hair was the shortest it had ever been. But everyone she cared about in the land of the living was safe, at least for now. She hoped none of the sailors would take a dislike to the glowing circle of her hair and remove it. Big Whoop might still have enough power to take over the others through him and take everyone back to the island.

The wind picked up, howling through the branches of the illuminated willows. She had been watching Guybrush and Elaine paying a visit to the Plunder Island cannibals, but the 'weather,' such as it was, was catching her attention. If this land had ever followed normal weather patterns, she would have sworn it was about to storm.

She broke the image and slipped through the glade and into the woods. She would see what was going on, then return.

The light from the sun was vanishing as she reached the edge of the trees, and the wind had increased to something close to a gale. More than that, the spirits were looking nervously at a sky which was actually clouding over. They gathered together in small clusters and peered upward with puzzled and prophetic frowns.

In one of the nearest clumps was Grethelle, shivering nervously and looking pale (paler than normal). Her lips were very dark against her skin, eyes wide with fear.

"Gret, what's wrong?" Chariset had to shout to be heard over the wind.

"It's...!" Gret's voice was fading in and out. "..coming. _He_'s coming!"

There was only one _he_ in this land. "Big Whoop?! Why would he be coming here?"

"He comes when somebody breaks a law!" yelled another member of the group. "But the last time was almost a hundred years ago."

"What did he do to the person who broke the law?" Chariset yelled back.

"He blew him to pieces!"

"There wasn't...of him left," added Gret. "H-..just vanished!"

Oh, this was lovely. Chariset broke away from the group and headed for the courtyard, which was already filling with nervous Threepwoods. She drew a little apart and stood alone--if she was to be punished for intervening in the lives of those still alive, she wanted to spare as much of her family as possible.

The wind increased to an almost unbearable level over the huddled mass of her family. She was having difficulty keeping herself together--literally--as wisps of her substance tried to break loose and fly away. It took all of Agnus' training to compact herself into something harder than rock and remain whole.

With no warning at all, the wind stilled. The gigantic lava-beast which was Big Whoop strode forward out of a pocket of air into a hushed and expectant silence to greet his captive audience. The ones closest to him shrank back. He eyed them without a word for a second or two, no one brave enough to break the silence before he did.

"I suppose you all know why I'm here," he began eventually, as casually as a lecturer discussing his most familiar subject. "I'm here because one among us does not know _her_ place." The male Threepwoods relaxed, the females tensed. "And we all know what happens to those who don't know their places...don't we, Ms. Chariset?" Big Whoop eyed her like a cat eyes a mouse, waiting for a reaction.

Her family cringed away from her as though she carried a lethal disease as she moved through the crowd to confront the monster alone. _This is the same mind which motivated LeChuck_, she told herself. _And you know how to handle LeChuck_.

"It seems that quite a lot of us are out of place, Mr. Whoop," she began slowly. "In fact, there are some who would argue that only one of us here is _in_ his place."

He pretended not to understand. "And just who would that be, pray tell?"

"Let's stop beating around the bush, shall we? We don't belong here. We don't belong to you. If we did, then maybe your rules would actually be binding."

He looked annoyed but not angry enough to squish her. Yet. "So you admit it?"

"I admit to doing anything I need to to get out of here and save my family," she answered, eyes narrowed.

"And yet you know that I have a little agreement with your family. You keep your end, and I keep mine. But you knew the terms and you still broke them."

_A little what with my family_? "Who made this agreement?"

"Why, your very own forefather, Agnus Traaephood. To save his wife and children from coming here, he made a bargain with me. But he broke faith, just like you did--and so they came to me anyhow. Just like the rest of the family. Now you all belong to me."

She shot a questioning glance at Agnus, who nodded once, ashamed to meet her eyes. For the first time, she began to wonder whether the law really was on their side...

"You see?" hissed Big Whoop, smelling blood. "This is legal. Binding. Completely unbreakable. This contract only breaks at one end--mine."

"That agreement was made under duress!" Chariset objected, but she knew it was a lost cause. "What good is justice when you set out all the terms and bounds?"

Big Whoop sneered at her. "I grow tired of your ranting about justice, lawbreaker. I see there is a statue of Athena in your temple--go plead your case to her if you want justice."

He pointed a finger at her. There was a jolt, a moment of disorientation, and she found herself inside the column-walls of her temple.

"I'm placing you under house-arrest," Big Whoop thundered. "You can cool your heels for a while until I'm ready to sentence you."

Chariset ran to the edge of the floor--and was halted. The vast expanse of air between the thick columns was exactly as impermeable as water wasn't. The stone pillars might as well have been bars. She listened helplessly as the lava-monster turned his attention on her family.

"And as for the rest of you, this is your penalty for letting a lawbreaker run loose. Until you have convinced me that you are willing to abide by the rules, your viewing pool in the forest will be dried up." A strange sinking feeling in her gut told Chariset that this part of the sentence was just now being carried out. Several in the crowd moaned.

"Stop your whining--I haven't done a thing to you. Yet." Chariset couldn't see the courtyard, but she was certain it was a particularly grim sort of stand-off, like a cat cornering a group of mice in an inescapable area.

"You have grown too comfortable," he went on. "Too safe in your own little world. You must _never_ forget that I own you."

He paused, and she felt her hands close into fists at his cold cruelty. "Perhaps it is not your fault. I have not reminded you as often as I should have. I sat back and let influences like that girl infect you. The fault is mine...I apologize. Nevertheless, perhaps I should remind you again, right now..."

The world turned dark in the flash of an eye--and then the screams began.

Out of the center of the courtyard, a twisting, snaking column of white rose up to meet a similar column coming down. It resembled a waterspout, only darker and far, far more sinister, because its howling winds devoured not debris but souls.

From the edges of the courtyard, bits and pieces of glowing spirit-substance were flying up, dragged away from their sources by sheer force. Chariset thought she saw one of Grethelle's wings, or a giant hand-shape which might have come from Agnus, or one of Elise's fancy hats, all dragged into the maelstrom.

The devil winds even pulled on her, tugging at her clothing and hair....she didn't want to think about how it must be at the center of the storm. _I did this_, she thought. _I brought this down on them_. More and more spirit-matter poured into the center of the twisting winds, while she looked on, unable to interfere.

_Wait_..._there in the center_..._is that_...?

There was another soul in the center of the funnel--and it was to this soul that all the stolen substance was flying. Even now it was accumulating around this tiny wisp of soul, half-hidden in the swirling spirit-tornado, forming and taking new shape as...a woman?

Then she realized. _That's the soul of Guybrush's daughter_._ He's stealing from us to age her prematurely, so he can send her after him_!

And Big Whoop had unwisely set her outside the impact area so that she alone could clearly see what he was doing. _Big Mistake #2, Mr. Whoop_. _This one will be your undoing_.

After what seemed like ages, the sky shuddered, stilled....and finally the storm broke, revealing the familiar black sun. It was over.

The funnel had retreated into the 'sky,' leaving the moaning survivors to gather themselves together and try to recover. Big Whoop had long since vanished, and so they had some privacy as they slunk, whipped and beaten, back to their respective homes. Some had to pass her temple, and she recoiled at the looks of blank rage or hatred they sent her. Perhaps Big Whoop was even more cunning than she had suspected, to gift her with information she could never share.

Her entire family, every member but herself, had suffered some rather major damage thanks to Big Whoop's tornado. Gret passed, and Chariset drew in a hissing breath when she saw that both of her beautiful wings had been torn off. Agnus lumbered in the other direction, a mutilated shadow of his former self. When he finally reformed into a human shape, he would be half his usual gigantic size. Big Whoop was so incredibly cruel.

"...next time, hope _she's_ in the center of it.." muttered a voice. She would have turned around to see the speaker, but it seemed to be a sentiment echoed by almost all.

Chariset sighed. She'd picked a fine time to make herself unpopular.

* * *

  
"It comes to this," Elaine concluded. "We'll have to split up into two groups...one to go to Monkey Island and meet the spirit of the island with me, and one to go with Guybrush to put together a resurrection spell. We'll meet at Dinky Island and then storm Big Whoop's fortress, hopefully taking the monster by surprise. If we're extremely lucky, all his magic will be gone, so all we'll have to do is clean up."

She was addressing a rather subdued gathering in the fort's meeting room. Of the party who had escaped from Monkey Island, only Guybrush was absent, discussing his options with the Necromancer. Hollander C. Feed and her brother Wally, Murray, Nic and the _Seahorse_'s crew, Horace and a rather depressed Largo, and the two parrots. Polly seemed to like Horace, to the latter's mild surprise.

The Barbery Coast trio were also in attendance, tired of long months of inaction and wanting some adventure. Lemonhead was present as delegate for the cannibals, and the Voodoo Priestess had made a special visit to keep an eye on things, though she would not be going with them.

The only remaining matter was to divide the members into two groups, one to go to the Monkey Shrine on Monkey Island (they would leave immediately aboard the _Seahorse_) and one to wait until Guybrush determined what needed to be done to save the imprisoned Threepwoods and revive them.

Elaine did a quick poll of the sailors, about half of which elected to come along with her, including Nic, Chariset's navigator. Guybrush had given him a copy of the spell needed to transport a ship instantaneously to the Island, which the Voodoo Lady had revised so that it was easier on the passengers. In fact, with some slight modifications, it could transport a ship to any given island, though the priestess warned that this was not absolutely safe, and that they should proceed with extreme caution.

The Barbery barbers were a set and preferred to stay together--they voted unanimously to either go with Guybrush or remain on the island in case of emergency. Holly and Wally, with some reluctance, decided to split up, Holly going along with Elaine, Wally remaining to help with the spell. Horace also chose to stay behind, but Largo surprised everyone by voting to go back to Monkey Island.

"I don't like it," he admitted. "I've never liked Guybrush for making a fool out of me, and I don't like his sister much, either. But she _did_ save my life when anyone else would have just left me, so I feel like I owe them something."

Elijah chose that moment to leap onto his shoulder and _bwaaaaaaack_ in a particularly adorable fashion, causing the homely little man to blush and mutter a disclaimer. The entire table laughed, not unkindly, which only deepened the hue. Largo might not exactly have been reformed, but at least there was progress, Elaine reflected.

Lemonhead was going along as a matter of course. That raised the total number going to the island to around seven or eight, depending on what a final wavering sailor decided.

"Any larger and we'll be too obvious," Elaine decided. "We'll finish loading tonight and sail on the evening tide. Better go pack."

The chosen members departed, leaving the room in quiet for a heartbeat or so. Guybrush (with admirable timing) chose that moment to reenter, accompanied by the great wizard, the Necromancer.

"I have the usual good news and bad news," the Necromancer began. "The good news is that the situation isn't as bad as we'd originally thought. The Threepwood ancestors aren't precisely dead, so they won't need to be resurrected."

That brought surprised looks from all around the table. "No?" queried Elaine for all of them.

"No. Their bodies are still alive, if frozen. What we will need is a spell to reunite their souls with their physical forms, which can only happen once they are freed of the ice crystals which Guybrush described. In essence, we will need a Spell of Undoing, similar to the one that my Amulet casts."

"But the Amulet is buried with Chariset," Guybrush took up the narrative. "So we'll need another spell, one closely connected with the caster."

"Namely, Big Whoop."

"So...what's the bad news?" asked Horace after a brief pause.

"The bad news is that we have to link the spell to Big Whoop somehow," replied Guybrush.

"This is going to be more dangerous than you're letting on." Elaine knew by now when her husband was leaving something unsaid.

The Voodoo Lady spoke up for the first time that evening. "You will need something like a voodoo doll of Big Whoop in order to make this spell work."

Most of the table gasped. "You mean...something of the Head, something of the Thread..that sort of thing?" Elaine shook her head. "That's impossible. He's made of _lava_."

"This isn't as complicated as a voodoo doll," Guybrush reassured her. "All we need is a piece of Big Whoop's substance."

"Which brings us back to the same problem," she retorted. "Even assuming you can get close enough, you'll never be able to seize part of him and get away with it."

Horace cleared his throat nervously. "I might know a way."

Every eye in the room fixed on him. "How?" asked the Necromancer gently.

"Big Whoop has little spies he sends out, things I call Little Whoops," the man fumbled out. "They're made from the same stuff he is."

Haggis was trying to follow the conversation. "Little....drops of lava?"

"Yeah. They look just like him, but they're tiny."

Elaine remained skeptical. "So they're tiny. They're still too hot to carry."

Horace was clearly thinking hard. "But I saw one turn into stone once....on....Crescent Island."

The four people who knew the area best--the Barbery Coast pirates and Elaine--exchanged glances. "That island is a deathtrap," said Edward van Helgen carefully.

"Besides, stone is dead substance....it needs to be living lava for the spell to work," added the Necromancer. "Sorry, Horace."

Chariset's former crewman and General LeChuck's former Captain started to reply, then froze in place, in hot pursuit of some distant memory. The table waited respectfully.

"When I was under Monkey Island...Big Whoop said....what did he say...he said that he had Little Whoops all over the Caribbean.." Horace let the words dribble out of his mouth, clearly thinking out loud. "And at least two of them were in the Blood Island volcano."

"Why would Big Whoop have spies in Mt. Acidophilous?" Guybrush was clearly puzzled.

"He said....he said he was going to make the volcano erupt and destroy the island."

It was Guybrush and Elaine's turn to lock eyes. "That would be the moment to do it," remarked the Necromancer with surprising equanimity. "The heat of the volcano would increase the speed of the reaction, once we threw the ingredients in."

"But what about the island? What about the Goodsoups?" Guybrush sounded concerned, and with good reason. They were something of a second family to him.

"We'll just have to evacuate them," the Voodoo Lady said, tone matter-of-fact, which signified to Elaine that she had already foreseen the destruction of Blood Island.

"Can you take care of that?" she asked.

"Just get the _Sea Cucumber_ over there within the week--which shouldn't be difficult with the maps I will give you--and all will be well."

"What ingredients will you need for the spell?"

"I have a list," replied Guybrush. "We'll have to run all over the place to get the ingredients, but we should be able to do it in a week."

"Will we know when it's done?" This was a mission that depended critically upon timing--even if they could move ships near-instantly around the sea, they would still lose critical minutes getting into shore.

The Necromancer grinned. "You'll know. Your little parrot friends have volunteered to run messages." Guybrush held out his wrist for Polly, who helpfully hopped up onto it. Upon her magical collar of hair she wore a special stone of a reddish-blue color.

He had another stone on a clasp for her own necklet. Guybrush already carried one on the strange, thin white cord he had taken to wearing under his shirt. "These stones are anchor-points of sorts. If Guybrush sends Elijah to you with a message, he will come immediately to the other stone. And it won't harm the birds."

"Then I guess we're ready," Elaine almost sighed. "I just can't shake the feeling that we're forgetting something."

"Chariset. How does she fit into this?"

"She doesn't," the priestess _did_ sigh. "You're on your own from here on out."

Elaine realized that part of what was nagging at her was the fact that she and her husband would have to split up...again...to accomplish this task and make it safe for their daughter to be born.

Which reminded her...

"What about our daughter's soul? Will destroying Big Whoop's power bring her back?"

"I would assume so," the priestess replied. "But not even the future is certain at this point. Too many things are possible which could create entirely new futures."

"Such as?"

The Voodoo Lady didn't answer. Elaine sighed in disgust. "Why can't you ever be more specific?"

"I am bound by rules, the same as you are. But the odds are better that you will be successful than that you won't." She looked at Guybrush and Elaine with compassion. "I would like to tell you your futures, but if you knew, you would worry."

She turned dark eyes on Elaine. "What happened to the young governor who told me flat-out 'Don't _ever _tell me what's going to happen'?"

Elaine sighed facially. "That young governor wasn't worrying day and night about whether her baby girl was dead."

"You've got a couple hours until the evening tide--why don't you and Guybrush spend some time together? It may be a while before the next time. And while you're gone, I can see how many of these spell ingredients I already have on hand."

It was a good plan, and Guybrush was already out the door. Elaine supposed a last walk in the garden would do her some good...

* * *

  
Once the red-haired woman was out of the room and the remainder of the party dispersed, the priestess heaved a sigh so deep it seemed to come from her very soul. She leaned on her braced elbow, looking worn and very, very old.

"How much of that was bluff, Meren?" asked the Necromancer softly.

"Almost all of it," she sighed, not looking up. "I don't see any good ending to this..not one."

He rested an arm on her shoulder, and she hid her eyes in it. "I've just sent the most deserving young couple I know off to be killed by their own daughter. May God have mercy on my soul....."

"They've beaten worse odds," he offered.

"Those times, they faced enemies they could kill. This time, they have to fight their own flesh and blood. There's just no way to win."

"I have faith in them, Meren-na. They remind me a lot of you and I, when we were younger."

She looked up sharply. "That was decades ago!"

"And if it hadn't been for the Foremaster and Foremistress of the Voodoo Academy, we'd both be dead now."

"Several times over." But she was close to smiling.

He suddenly became quiet and serious. "If we stop now, we're betraying them just as surely as if we killed them ourselves. I have faith in the young spirit-woman who in life once stormed my fortress with nothing but a sword and a talking skull. I have faith in the most stubborn Governor on record. And I have faith in this pirate-lad you like so much. Given half a chance, there's nothing they can't do...you've got to make yourself believe that."

She didn't answer. "And besides, if it hadn't been for them, we'd never have gotten back together."

"You almost make it sound like we owe them something."

"Don't we?" His lined face held open appeal. "I've always thought we did. Was I wrong?"

She read the question in his eyes, the other one. And she answered with her own, simply.

"Yes."

* * *

  
"No imposters, la."

"That's _it_?? That's all he agreed to?"

"If he impersonates any one of us, he's broken his agreement. But he's never broken his word, la...not once."

Chariset paced behind the columns, still a prisoner in her own house. "But how will we know if he does? The gazing pool's gone...and I'm really the only one who ever used it."

She was bored, bored and restless. None of her attempts to change the situation had worked at all--she couldn't even change the reality of her temple. She had tried everything from opening holes in the roof or floor to shrinking the building down until it was small enough that Agnus could carry it--all without result. Big Whoop was good at keeping her caged.

Fortunately, she could still change her spirit-form--the only real source of activity for her. She wore her hair about as long as it had been in life, and pony-tailed, but she had converted her clothes into flowing white robes. It was a subtle jab at her parents, who came by from time to time to give her lectures on proper behavior for a ghost._ If you're going to call me a dead woman who has no chance at life, I'm going to look the part_, her filmy robes said. They even stirred and moved about in a spirit-wind no one else seemed to feel.

Chariset had no idea how truly ghostly she looked, padding around inside her temple like a bare-footed lion in a cage. All she knew was that she felt rootless and lost, unanchored. The least little wind could blow her away now, and she struggled not to feel safe inside the temple. She mustn't start thinking of Big Whoop as her protector, not now. If he was the hand that protected her little flame, he was also the breath which threatened to blow it out.

"I've never felt so helpless," she confided to Agnus. "I have no control over my future, none. I don't even know what's going on outside this world. If I couldn't even see what was happening here, I think I'd go insane."

"I'm here, la," said Agnus, but seeing him cut down to less than half his usual mass was enough to negate most of the comfort of his words. He was just as much a prisoner and subject to Big Whoop's whims as she was.

They sat in silence for a while. "Agnus...that contract you made," she began, finally. "I know there must have been other factors involved. I'm sure you must have had your reasons to break it."

"He deceived me, la. He made me think my wife and kids were going ta be killed, executed by Her Majesty's government."

"So what did you do?"

"What could I do? I appeared in front of the entire crowd--in broad daylight--and scared away the executioners to save their lives."

"And that was it. You saved them for the moment, but lost everyone."

"Aye."

"Where is your family now?"

"They died anyhow, la.." Agnus choked, and a tear ran down his face. "Big Whoop locked me up, just like he did you, and left me there for years. When he finally let me out again, all my family was dead down to a great-grandson. And I couldn't do a thing about it."

"So they've been...in Heaven all these years, without you." Chariset felt a sharp pain in her throat as she contemplated this suffering man, whose name meant 'lamb.' _ Why does the world always hurt the gentle_? she wondered.

"Aye, la. For over two centuries, while Big Whoop steals people from their lives just because they have my name."

Chariset had never believed in any place like Purgatory, but if there were such a thing, this was it. "You wouldn't want to come back to life again even if you could, would you?"

"No, Chari-la. I just want it to be over.."

She pressed both palms to the invisible barrier separating her--he raised two fingertips and touched the other side. Choking back a tear or two of her own, she answered "It will be someday, Agnus. I swear to you that Big Whoop is going to fall, and then you'll be out of here forever."

"I believe you, la." A large spirit tear splashed to the ground and splattered against the barrier. "If anyone can do it, you can."

_I don't deserve his trust_, she thought sadly--but just then the world began to fade out.

"What the--?" The barrier was darkening, turning opaque, blocking out her view of the world. Even as the darkness closed her in, she felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. They were sinking. The temple, with her inside it, sinking into the ground. Her throat closed up with panic, blocking a scream.

"_Chariset Threepwood_," boomed the voice of Big Whoop, coming from somewhere in the walls. "_You have been found guilty of violating the rules_. _Are you ready to hear your sentence_?"

"Let me _out_ of here!" she shrieked.

"_Are you ready to hear your sentence_?"

"No, you monster!" She could hardly breathe.

"Chari, la!" Agnus cried from somewhere above her.

"_Are you ready to hear your sentence_?"

She reminded herself that she didn't need to breathe and fought to answer him calmly. "I don't abide by your justice. I refuse to accept your sentence."

"_You will hear your sentence_." The voice may or may not have admitted a small defeat. "_You, Chariset Threepwood, shall remain buried alive until such time as I see fit to release you_."

She felt the blood drain out of her face. A horrified whisper: "Buried.....no! You can't leave me down here!"

The voice made no reply. "Agnus!" she screamed. "My family! He's going to kill them all!"

He either could not hear her or she couldn't hear his reply. The darkness swept in on her, smotheringly, until she soared upward in utter panic, smashing into walls and columns. Nothing yielded, though she ricocheted off every surface within, dizzy and bruised in spirit. Eventually, completely disoriented, she let herself fall into what must have been the floor, panting.

"I won't let you kill my brother," she shouted hoarsely into dead air.

"_You can't really threaten me, can you_? _You're dead and buried_."

"You can't keep me here forever."

"_I can, but I won't_. _You should be out of here just in time to see_..._this_." There was a faint shimmer in the air, and a dimly-glowing form appeared before her. The Athena statue was moving. She bent down, laid her spear on the ground, and turned toward her--and her face was the face of Elaine. "Hi, sis," she said in Guybrush's voice. "I can't wait to see you again. Won't it be fun when I let you out of here?"

"You _monster_!" she screamed, flinging herself at the hateful image. But Elaine/Athena/Guybrush held up a hand--she struck it hard, fell....and awareness fled away. Her spirit form in white robes lay motionless on the stone floor while the rest of her mind went....somewhere else.

* * *

Agnus knelt on the grassy plot where the temple had once stood, numb. "You were my last hope," he mumbled. Only the cries of the birds in the air replied.


	4. Big Whoop Attacks

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter 3: Big Whoop Attacks

* * *

Not for the first time, Guybrush wished they'd had an orchestra along, just to play music appropriate for his daring exploits. Right now, as the _Sea Cucumber_, _his_ ship, cut across the waves, she should have been running to the rich and harmonica-y strains of some joyous sea chanty. As it was, she had to make her own music.

Guybrush was in a better mood than he'd been in in months. He was out on the open sea once again, face to the wind, hands on the wheel. Wally was somewhere behind him, taking a few careful measurements and making sure that they were still on course. Haggis was down on the main deck, 'supervising,' which is to say that he was stretched out on a lawn chair dozing. Edward "Snugglecakes" van Helgen was swinging merrily from the rigging (Guybrush could hear the Whee-hee-hee! as he flew past), Bill was polishing the cannons (still the very best model, thanks to Chari's careful upgrades), and Murray was somewhere belowdecks. The actual sailing was being done largely by his sister's crew, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even dour Horace, who looked like he had never smiled in his life, was standing on the port rail looking interested and alive if not happy. It had done everyone aboard good to get out onto the sea, Guybrush included.

Somehow, with an entire ship under his hands, Guybrush always felt like ordinary problems were quite small and easy to manage. No matter how sticky a situation seemed on dry land, at sea he was Captain Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, capable of anything. But this time, the _Sea_ _Cucumber_'s strange optimism had spread to the entire crew, binding them together more tightly than he had ever seen in a crew. They were all behind him--his purpose was their purpose. It was probably because not one of them liked the fact that Big Whoop was threatening a baby, but even so, they were _his_ crew. He'd never had a group of people loyal only to him before, and it was sobering. But he was glad with all his heart that they were there. Some deep-rooted pirate instinct told him that he would need all of their skills to finish this mission, even though it seemed straightforward from where he stood, hands on the wheel. Big Whoop's treachery and low cunning must never be underestimated.

Especially not when he held the soul of their daughter as a willing hostage.

They were approaching the fabled Myth Island, in search of the first item on the list to assemble a new Amulet. Somehow they would need to get the second of the blue jewels from the temple to Athena which stood just to one side of Myth's summit. This could be tricky, since the citizens had been reluctant to part with them without something in exchange last time--he and Chari had finally had to offer Murray, then a talking demonic skull, as a god to be worshiped in their place. Guybrush glanced down at the present Murray, now coming on deck, and concluded that they wouldn't be able to pull the same trick again. A tall human man with faded brown hair wasn't awe-inspiring enough to offer as a god.

Hurdle number 1: Get the people of Myth Island to hand over the only other holy object they have left.

_Oh, heavens_..._am I going to need a toga again_?

They pulled into harbor just at sundown. Wally and Murray, both up on the higher deck with Guybrush, reacted to the sight of New Athens with comically opposite reactions--Murray with ill-disguised horror, Wally with completely undisguised delight. The little redhead practically bounded off the ship, Guybrush, Murray, and the barber pirates in tow.

It had occurred to Guybrush, and to Murray as well, that it might be best to pay their visit to the temple in the middle of the night and simply pirate the blue gem. He wasn't entirely happy about the idea, but time was of the essence. Wally wanted to stay in the village and pack up his things up (he had been living in his sister Holly's shop but now was moving out), and the Barbery trio would no doubt stay and help (they had a real attachment to the little guy, and he to them). The rest of the crew would spend some time on shore but planned to sleep aboard the ship. Horace, who seemed pensive and wanting to be left alone, was staying aboard the entire time. Guybrush hoped he could talk Horace around, in time--the man, for his character flaws, had proved himself a rather skilled organizer, and he and Elaine needed a good secretary for the fortress paperwork.

That left only Murray and Guybrush free for a little secret venture to the other side of the island. With any luck they could be there and back without anyone the wiser. After all, no one except Guybrush knew the contents of the list--for all the crew was concerned, he could have stopped by to get Wally's things or maybe tour the local shops for something less arcane than a jewel with godlike powers.

Still, even when he and his partner in crime were coming around the mountain by the tiny cemetery in the north side of the island, he wished there was some other way. Stealing an ordinary object in a good cause was one thing, stealing a sacred object was quite another. Just thinking about Athena's possible reaction to temple robbers was enough to raise goosebumps on his arms.

"Murray," he asked to break the silence, keeping his voice low. "What would be the best way to get into the temple?"

"It depends how you mean," whispered the other man in reply. "Shortest, quietest, or safest?"

"I need a way to get in and out without spending any more time in the temple than I absolutely have to."

"Why? The temple itself isn't guarded."

"I....it's because of Athena," Guybrush admitted, feeling a little foolish.

Murray reacted predictably. "Don't tell me you believe in that sort of thing."

Guybrush shrugged. "I've spent my entire life fighting a spirit, my sister's a ghost, my daughter is a disembodied soul.." Murray looked slightly uncomfortable--was he really in love with Chariset? "After all that, I could believe anything really exists."

"Good point." The former disembodied skull went silent for a minute, while they crept quietly closer to the white-blue bulk of the Greek temple. Then he said, as if just now hearing the question, "The best way, if you don't want to spend too much time inside, would be to go around to the other side and then just run straight through to where we are now. Grab the stone on the way by and you're out."

"You aren't coming?"

"No, I'll stay here and keep watch."

"But how will I know if you see anything?"

Murray smiled a half-smile (half-smiled a half-smile?) and reached into his coat. He touched something that whistled sleepily and drew a green ball of feathers with a tail out into the open. Polly blinked twice, then righted herself and climbed up his shoulder with an air of offended dignity.

"Ah."

"I'll send her over if I see anything...she's a very fast flier." Murray slipped into the bushes to keep watch, and Guybrush caught sight of a glint of metal under his jacket before he was entirely concealed...and not from a sword. Clearly Murray was equally as prepared to be a sniper as a watchdog.

At least he wasn't hostile to Guybrush anymore. The pirate shrugged again and began to carefully skirt around the back wall of the temple, disliking how well he must be silhouetted against the pale stone. Eventually, however, he ducked around the far corner and was safely concealed once more. A quick scan of the area revealed no movement whatsoever, and the hedges and bushes which surrounded the front of the building didn't reach this far. He paused, realizing he was breathing hard, and leaned on the cool marble, surprised at the strange feeling of life in the stone. It seemed to know he was there, and it recognized and welcomed him. Puzzled, he slipped inside the temple, through the double-row of columns, into darkness pierced by long beams of moonlight--odd-shaped shadows from the other end of the room. No one else was there, but the sense of _I know and greet you_ increased.

Feeling exposed on all sides and vulnerable, he felt his way across the floor with his feet, fighting the impulse to run. At the same time, paradoxically, he knew he was safe from attack, as though some power rendered him invisible to the outside world.

He reached the center of the temple, eyes scanning the darkness for the statue-idol which stood in the place of honor against the back wall. It had been well over a year since he'd been here last, but he thought he remembered the layout....

Light!

A blue flare cut into his awareness--he froze in place, braced to dodge behind the nearest column, but the blue glow remained steady. _Torchlight is yellow_, he reminded himself, trying to slow his heart rate to something more normal. Lost cause. He was already so nervous that his mouth had gone dry. This was a bad idea...a very, very bad idea..

Still, the sapphire glow persisted, touching his hands shyly. It was gentle and strangely personal, meant for him alone. Slowly he realized that he was actually behind Athena, and the light was coming from somewhere in front of her.....from the jewel itself. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. Did the goddess herself want him to have this stone?

He swallowed hard and circled the Athena statue. She stood as always, hands cupped before her, holding a spear pinned between one arm and her side, illuminated chillingly from below by the soft light of the sacred gem.

_Guybrusssssshhhhhhh_..... The voice whispered in the sibilant echoes of cloth on cloth, or footsteps on stone, but he certainly wasn't moving, and no one else was there. _Guybrush_...._you must hurry_. _You are in danger_...._danger_.._ger_.._ger_.._ger_.._ger_... _You must hurry_, _Guybrussssshhh_....

"Who's there?" He backed up a step and nearly leaped into the air when his back touched something....the back wall of the statue alcove. His own breathing sounded very loud among the pillars.

_It's me, Guybrush_.. Every sibilant echoed on the walls. _This is my home_._ Big Whoop is coming after you_...._take the stone and hurry_..

Flinching away just a little, he touched the glowing stone. It was cool to his fingertips but immediately flooded his hand with gentle warmth. There was no doubt that it knew him.

At the same time, he felt gripped with a sense of urgency. Get out. Get out now.

He fled for the opposite end of the temple at a run. Behind him, a quiet crackling sound began. 

* * *

Murray glanced up sharply as Guybrush fled past him. "Guybrush, what--?"

"No time!" he gasped. "Run to the village and tell everyone to get out! Big Whoop is coming to destroy the island!"

For once, he had reason to be glad Murray was a man of action--he wasted no breath in answering. He bolted past Guybrush and up over the hill as though he'd been fired from a cannon.

Guybrush himself, unfortunately, was in real need of air at this point and faltered down to a walk. Polly whistled past his head, crying in distress. "Polly! Go tell Horace to get the ship and the spell ready to go. Tell him to wake up the crew and get ready for extra passengers. Hurry!"

The green parrot fled away as fast as thought, while Guybrush struggled along behind at a somewhat slower pace. He had never quite understood how a person who could survive on a full breath of air for ten minutes could get winded on a sprint of fifty yards, but speculation was the last thing on his mind at the second. Right now he had to get back to the _Cucumber_ and get away before the island fell apart underneath him.

At the very crest of the hill now, looking over--the town of New Athens looked like a disturbed ant-hill. People crowded the streets, clutching belongings, almost running over one another in the darkness to get to the ships. Only the _Sea Cucumber_ had its lanterns lit, and half the town fled towards the yellow light instinctively. Among the stream of panicking people, Guybrush thought he saw Haggis, head and shoulders above the mass, directing traffic. Polly swooped uneasily above all.

Behind him rose a tidal wave of sound--the temple. Gunshot cracks of noise punctuated a dull rumbling undertone--the Song of Myth Island was playing behind him. He felt a strange and terrible obligation to turn and look...

The temple to Athena was shivering and shaking, almost vibrating in waves of force sweeping across the ground. The earth was swept by waves identical to those on the sea--he would have run as they marched up the hill towards him, but his feet were rooted to the spot....he stood fastened to the hillside as one, two, three waves struck him. The first felt like someone had struck the soles of both his boots with a sledgehammer, the second jolted him into the air briefly...he landed off-balance just in time for the third wave, which actually sent him briefly into flight. He landed hard, rolled off his shoulder, and wound up on his seat, propped up by two locked arms, facing the temple side of Myth Island. Behind him, he heard tearing sounds and screams as the less-sturdy buildings of the Island fell to pieces under the pounding.

Then the marble temple itself collapsed, crumbling into huge blocks of column, roof, peristyle--small pieces flew outward in all directions. 'Small' relatively--a brick the size of his head just missed his fingers and he had to throw himself out of the way of two more. A third clipped him on the point of his shoulder before he could get out of the way, sending a white-hot streak of pain down his right arm. He gasped and clutched the joint, trying to ward off small darts of flying stone with his forearm at the same time. Clouds of dust rose, covering the valley below, and he just kept his sleeve pressed to his tightly-shut eyes, waiting out the destruction and dreading more flying rocks.

The earth was by no means still when he looked up again, but the once-proud temple was in ruins and most of the surrounding trees were flattened in a wide radius. Guybrush drew a shakily deep breath and took stock of himself. He was alive and more or less well--his shoulder didn't feel broken, but it was already starting to swell, and he was losing sensation in his right hand. Eyes watering a little from pain, he started to struggle back up to a standing position.

And then, again, without any warning, something catastrophic happened right under his feet--the island split in two. Tumbling and rolling, jarred on the rough and rocky ground, landing hard on his injured shoulder at least twice, Guybrush made a painful and undignified descent to the bottom of the hill until he came to a halt against something considerably less yielding than he was, bruised and disoriented, ears ringing

Above him, to add insult to injury, someone was laughing.

No one laughs at Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate.

He clenched his teeth, partly in anger, partly in pain, and struggled up to something closer to standing, leaning heavily on a tree. Only then did he finally got a look at the laugher.

Big Whoop.

The lava creature who had made his life living Hell for months was _right here_, looming over him out of a gaping rift in Myth Island, a rift filled with molten lava. Guybrush backed up a step, seeing his death in those yellow eyes, and knowing that there was no possible way to get past him to the _Sea Cucumber_. He was trapped.

The monster laughed again, and his expression boded ill for the injured pirate.

* * *

  
In New Athens, it was chaos. Haggis shouldered his way through the crowd, clearing a path for the rest of the party through the panic-stricken citizens. Horace and the sailors were already on board, trying to move traffic onto the _Sea Cucumber_ as quickly as possible. The ship was riding dangerously low in the water--if they'd been sailing any distance, Haggis would never have taken the chance of going out carrying this much weight, but Guybrush had assured him that they could travel instantly to any part of the Caribbean magically. He never claimed to understand magic himself, but if Guybrush said this would work, Haggis would trust him.

"Snugglecakes!" he yelled over the din. "Have ya seen Cap'n Threepwood?"

"I think he's back in the house with Wally." Edward van Helgen seemed puzzled by the question. "Why? Don't you know where he is?"

"E's not with me--Oi haven't seem im anywhere!" piped a high British voice--Wally himself. He was walking directly behind Haggis, which was probably why the crowd hadn't trampled him. "Oi thought he was with Murray!"

"He was," yelled Murray from somewhere behind Cutthroat Bill, carrying a heavy bundle of luggage for Wally. "I lost track of him on the other side of the island!"

Just then the first of the shock waves hit. Haggis stumbled, Wally actually fell over, with Murray doing his best not to land on top of him. Several buildings nearby went down with a horrible, splintering crash. Dust rose everywhere. Infants wailed, and screams rose from all around the crowd.

"What if e was in the house?" cried Wally, eyes round. "Oiv'e got to go find im!"

"Wally-lad, wait!" But it was too late...the little redhead was lost in the crowd.

"Get to the ship," Haggis ordered, shoving Murray and van Helgen ahead of him. "I've got ta go get Wally."

* * *

  
Horace saw the large man turn and head back into the mob, while the rest of the party, sans Guybrush and Wally, was seeking shelter on the _Cucumber_.

His eyes narrowed. _Something's wrong_.

"Polly! Where are you?"

The green parrot with her blue and yellow primaries was perched just out of reach on the lowest yardarm. "_Bwaaaack_?" she called.

"Polly, go back to Cap'n Threepwood. Make sure he's all right."

She blinked, or he thought she did. "_Bwaaack_?"

"I know..I know..it's not like me. Just do it!"

She ruffled up her feathers and flapped away, headed for the far side of the island. Haggis was looking for Guybrush in the wrong place, Horace realized.

Just then, the rest of the crew came aboard. "Where's the Captain?" Murray demanded.

"On the other side of the island! I've just sent Polly to find him!"

"Then we've got to go tell Haggis," said van Helgen. He turned around and tried to get off the ship, but Murray blocked his way.

"Haggis can take care of himself," he began--

--but just then the entire island buckled and shook in a stronger tremor than ever before. Even the _Sea Cucumber_ shuddered in the shock waves before righting herself, while the sounds of the mob around them reached greater frenzy. Buildings trembled and broke like so many balloons all along the main boulevard....and out of the very center of the island rolled a tide of molten rock. Elbowing and shoving, the last of the citizens crowded onto ships and pulled away just as fast as possible. Still no Guybrush, Haggis, or Wally.

Horace whipped out his map, the one Guybrush had told him to have ready--a drawing of all the islands, next to each one a string of syllables. He chose the one farthest out of the area and concentrated fiercely on the letters, while their ship groaned under the weight of all her passengers. More tremors and waves shook the worthy vessel, as the island itself began to break into pieces--and still no Haggis or Wally.

While Horace studied the map, the sailors were doing all they could to keep order among the jostle of the mob, the Barbery Coast pirates among them. And so it was only Murray who looked up in time to see Big Whoop standing in the broken heart of Myth Island, laughing, glowing red-hot, larger than he remembered him. The creature was focused on something in front of him, firing off bolts of lava at an apparently moving target.

Half a heartbeat later, the crowd saw this, and, of course, and went insane with fear. Controlling them was suddenly four times as hard, and the ship rocked crazily. Murray began to fear for his life. Where was everyone? They had to _go_.

Just then, Polly came winging in, landing with a screech of claws on the railing. "_Bwaack_! _Just_ _go_..._tell them to use the spell and go without me_. _Don't worry about me, I'll be all right_. _Bwaaack_!"

Another bolt of fire from Big Whoop. "Ah HA! I've got you now, Threepwood!" boomed the monster, loudly and distinctly.

"Horace!" Murray grabbed the other man by the arm. "We don't have any more time to waste. We've got to just leave them here."

"Are you kidding? We can't leave them here to die! And besides, if we leave now, we'll lose everything we came here for!"

"Just do it! If we don't leave before that monster sees us, a whole lot of people are going to get hurt!"

Horace started to protest again, but Murray cut him off. "Do it! I have a feeling things will work out, but you've got to do it!"

There were times when Murray was every inch the would-be mighty demonic force, and this was one of them. The other man sighed, lifted the map, and began to recite "Atema gardu gei..."

* * *

  
Haggis shoved through the last of the mob and ducked his head inside the tiny coop which was Wally's house. "Wally! Are ye in here?"

"Haggis...help!" The call was coming from somewhere inside the tiny bedroom. Sounds of creaking beams and sliding plaster followed.

With some effort, the barber pirate managed to work his massive shoulders through the narrow door. "Hold still, lad. I'm coming."

"Haggis, he's not here...I looked and I looked, and then everything started shaking and a wall fell on me and I can't feel my legs Haggis..." Wally was clearly babbling in shock and fear.

"Don' move, lad." The front room, where Wally's sister Hollander had set up shop, was an obstacle course through which Haggis plowed with all the delicacy of a bull, crashing around through the overturned debris to reach the equally small side-door which led to the Feed siblings' living area.

It was worse than he'd feared. Half the room had collapsed into the other half, trapping poor Wally in the center. Haggis shoved his way through the doorframe, and knelt down next to the diminutive cartographer, carefully lifting bricks, plaster, and small pieces of wood out of the way. Only then could he see exactly how bad the situation was.

Haggis bit his lip, trying to hide his reaction from Wally. The cartographer was pinned face-down under two heavy beams, one across his back, the other just above his knees. But both beams were braced against the only remaining intact wall, which was obviously on the verge of collapse. If he shifted those beams even an inch, it might bring the entire structure down on their heads.

"Can you move at all, lad?"

Wally tried to lift himself with his arms, but the beams refused to give, and he fell back down, spent. Haggis asked again. "If I lift the beams, do you think you could pull yerself out?"

"Oi....Oi could try," Wally said bravely. Haggis put himself between the wall and the trapped boy, bent down and grasped the beam across Wally's legs. He lifted with all his might, bracing his back against the wall, hoping he could keep it upright. The cartographer struggled out from under the raised beam, fingers scrabbling in the dust for any kind of grip, gamely fighting his way free--but he was exhausted and Haggis was giving all he had to keeping the log off the ground--he couldn't help him. The pirate's arms began to tremble under the strain, and he finally had to let the raised beam drop. It landed with a heavy _thunk--_Wally was clear of it, thank heaven, but still pinned just as fast under the first rafter. Haggis straightened back up with a sigh, while the wall behind him trembled warningly. 

"One more, lad," he panted. More shock waves were coming in, making everything vibrate--small pieces of rocks, self-animated, skipped madly across the floor. "I'll stand here and lift up...grab my foot and I'll try to pull ya out." This method would surely bring the wall down on top of them--he would just have to be fast enough to get the boy out of the way. "Are ya ready, lad?"

Wally was panting. "Just...give me a second..."

Haggis felt the earth heave violently under his shoes. The stones vibrated in sympathy with the quake "We haven't got a second, lad."

"Okay...go!" Wally wrapped both arms around Haggis' ankle, hugging it with all his strength, while Haggis leaned over again to heave the beam away.

He was never quite sure, afterward, what happened--but something went horribly wrong. He lost his grip on the beam, or Wally lost his grip on him, because he yanked with all his might and met no resistance at all. He fell over backwards into the wall, staggered back-and recovered just in time to see the entire structure spill over into the room. Acting purely on instinct, he threw himself on top of the boy and covered his own head with his arms as every brick in that wall showered down onto them.

He felt the impact of only two or three bricks before a strange tingling sensation ran through every nerve of his body--and then the world went dark.

* * *

  
Guybrush ran into the forest, stumbling over air molecules, trying not to hit any more trees. Behind him, the small clump of brush he'd just vacated burst into flames, while more firebombs exploded just ahead of him. His only saving grace was that Big Whoop couldn't see him through the heavy jungle canopy and could only guess at his location. Of course, Guybrush couldn't precisely see where he was going, either, but at this point time was all that mattered. If he could buy enough time for the _Sea Cucumber_ to get away, maybe the crew could come back for him later. If he survived.

The island was slowly tearing itself to pieces--fissures erupted in front of him and to the side, forcing him to veer wildly around them. Lava ran away from him, downhill to where the sea must have been--steam rose up above the jungle to his left. The sea water must be superheated where the streams flowed in--that cut his chances of escape by water down considerably. Could he even swim now? His shoulder throbbed with pain in time to his heartbeat, and the fingers of his right hand had gone numb, except for a point in the center of his palm which stung.

"You can't hide in there forever, Threepwood!" bellowed an enraged voice above him. "I can burn down the entire jungle to find you!"

Guybrush glanced back and saw Big Whoop making good on his threat--the forest was on fire. A steady wave of fire, throwing up a towering wall of black smoke, rolled over the trees, directly towards him, as fast as a horse can run. He turned and fled, knowing he was being herded and hating it, but to rebel against that inferno would certainly cost him his life. His lungs ached as he tried to drag more smoky air into them, vision blurring a little. Twice his tired ankles twisted, and twice he had to endure the pain, plant his feet, and force himself on.

In that split-second, it felt like he had never done anything but run for dear existence through a thick forest with a crackling, blazing enemy trying to kill him. He stumbled again and nearly fell, then broke out into sunlight. Before him was an arm of coastline, behind him was a wall of fire....and rising out of the flames was Big Whoop. And, of course, the island ended in a cliff looking over jagged rocks. He had nowhere left to run, no breath to swim, and no real hope of rescue.

"Ah, there you are." Big Whoop gloated in the shelter of the fire. "I don't know how you escaped from that island, but you won't get the chance to try again."

"And why is that?" Guybrush said (well, panted, really) with bravado. _I hope the _Sea Cucumber _made it away_, he thought. "Out of gas?"

The monster blinked. "Out of _what_?"

Guybrush was a bit confused himself. "Admit it! The Songs don't work anymore...you don't really have that much power. Not off of Monkey Island."

"Ha!" The towering, lava-built creature smirked. "I destroy a whole island and he says I don't have any power."

"Oh, you have the power of the lava.." Guybrush wondered what possessed him to keep baiting this guy. "But you can only kill me here. So I'm dead...so what? You can't do any of the kinds of things here that really hurt."

Big Whoop snorted. "So you're saying this won't hurt?" He flicked his 'wrist' in an odd way, sending an odd-shaped fireball in Guybrush's direction--a fire ring. It dropped to the grass around him, thus making him the exact center of a circle of flames.

Immediately the fire blazed up, just as immediately, the flames began to creep inward. In a couple of minutes, Guybrush would be pirate flambee.

"This won't hurt?" taunted Big Whoop? "Not at all?"

Tired, lost, alone, still out of breath and aching in a dozen places, Guybrush nonetheless felt strangely calm. "No, you overstuffed sofa. You just don't seem to get it." He regarded the creature with real scorn. "You can't hurt me, even if you kill me, because I don't care about you. None of my family cares about you. And that is what's going to kill _you_, in the end."

"But _you'll_ be dead." The flames crept a little closer.

Guybrush closed his eyes for half a second and thought about Odia. "Even if you kill me, I'll still win. You've killed a lot of people I care about... But it won't last. You'll die too, someday--I hope I'm there when it happens." He felt a great surge of contempt sweep over him for this creature who had spent years playing with his life, and he wished he had something to throw at that smug face.

His right hand still ached...and suddenly he realized why. His fingers were white-knuckle-closed on the blue gem...the jewel from the now-destroyed temple of Athena.

It had to be mixed with the living matter of Big Whoop.....what could be more mixed than hurling it into the odious lava of the monster himself?

The flames crept closer, oddly smokeless...he could feel their heat on his face and his shirtsleeves...but the fire might as well not have existed. Big Whoop could never really touch him...he knew that now. But now Big Whoop would never touch anyone, not ever again.

"Take _this_, monster," he told the creature, so quietly that Big Whoop leaned forward to catch the words. Then he drew back his arm and _threw_ with all his might--

-and a strange tingling sensation froze him in mid-throw. The world went entirely gray, then black, his mind floating suspended and wondering exactly what had happened to the rest of him.

And then even that minor awareness faded, leaving him alone in the darkness waiting to know what he was again.

* * *

  
"..arefi tu!" finished Horace. Go _here_, he told the magic...and take _us_ there with you.

But when he thought _us_ he thought of the ship, the entire crew, the people in their boats around them...Guybrush and Wally and Haggis..

And a strange feeling swept over everyone..a near-painful prickling. Horace gasped as everything faded out, blurred, went flat and monotone...

...and then they were out on a coast, off the shore of a beautiful island with white sand beaches. All around the burdened _Sea Cucumber_ floated the boats and dinghies of a hundred disoriented passengers.

Something smacked into the side of his head with surprising force, bounced, and landed in his hands...a beautiful blue jewel. He whirled--and there was a disheveled, scorched, and generally-abused-looking Guybrush, leaning hard on the railing. He blinked twice at Horace, fumbled out a "Sorry," and then slid bonelessly down into a neat pile on the deck, unmoving.

In another part of the deck, amidst a bewildered crowd of people, Haggis got slowly to his feet, looking like a man who had run for a hundred miles straight..holding the limp form of Wally in his arms. He made his way through the crowd without a word, laid the boy gently on the window seat of the Captain's cabin, then fell onto the bed and didn't move. Murray and van Helgen followed, carrying Guybrush, whom they laid out on the bed next to Haggis.

The mob had gone silent, but the quiet was rustling with confused questions. "Where are we?" one of the women near-wailed, holding one infant with a toddler clinging to her other hand.

Horace searched his brain desperately for something to say. Words weren't his specialty. "You're on..." he examined the scribbled notations on the map "..Two-Tone Island. This is your home, if you want it to be."

"What happened to Myth Island?" About a dozen people repeated the question, adding volume to a quickly-rising din of despairing voices.

Horace was utterly out of his depth and looked around for help--van Helgen closed the door to the Captain's cabin and was up on the poop deck in two giant steps. "Myth Island has been destroyed by the monster you saw just before we left," he announced. Every head swivelled towards the sound of the pirate's refined tones. "We have brought you here to rebuild your homes. Had you stayed on Myth Island, you would be dead now."

Horace looked over the despairing faces. What were they to do now? They had just lost almost everything they owned.

"He's right!" said a dry and raspy voice from somewhere in the crowd. "We can start over here. This island is just the right place for a trading town."

_They'll never listen to him_, thought Horace as the white-bearded man went on, telling the crowd how this island was at the farthest edge of the Caribbean and would be a fine place to tax ships entering and leaving the area. What was more, it was isolated enough to make a good spiritual retreat--they could make a new New Athens here and be better off than before.

Sure enough, a large man pushed his way to the front of the hushed crowd--Horace tensed, waiting for the rebuttal.

"Herman is right!" the man declared. "These people have saved our lives and brought us to a new home. Athena must have sent them here in time to save us from the monster. We should be grateful to them." More murmurs followed, but most of them were punctuated with nods of agreement.

And so the citizens of Myth Island accepted their new home with a quiet courage which made Horace feel more than a little ashamed of himself.

"Well, I'll be!" said a voice at his elbow. "He got it after all."

Murray was looking closely at the blue gem Horace was still holding, smiling faintly. "I really underestimated that guy."

"How is everyone?" Horace asked, remembering how pale Haggis had looked.

"Fine, as far as I can tell. Just bruised up and probably sore."

"What do we do now?"

"First, we get everyone off the boat. Then we go after the next item on the list."

"Which is..?"

"I dunno...Guybrush has the list." Murray held out a hand for the gem, which Horace surrendered, glad to give it to someone else. There was a strange feel to that stone. "I'll take this in and see if I can find it."

He departed into the cabin, leaving Horace to try to stay out of the way of the sailors, who were loading citizens into boats and rowing them across. "We have to go to Sable Island for the next item--the Necromancer's staff," remarked the man upon his return.

"Then as soon as everyone's off the ship, we can go."

"Just like that, without telling anyone?" Murray looked intrigued nonetheless.

"Why not? I've got the map."

Murray opened the door again and looked in. None of the three had moved, though Guybrush was now holding the gem. "I'd like to wait until tomorrow just be sure....but after that..."

Edward van Helgen, who had been listening, joined in. "As soon as it's clear none of our companions need medical attention, I have no problem with leaving prematurely."

"We won't," said a voice from the doorway. Guybrush was leaning heavily on the frame, looking half-dead but determined. "And the sooner we leave, the better."

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Murray's expression could have defined 'doubtful.'

"Heh...no. I feel terrible." Guybrush looked amused all the same. "As soon as I send a note to Elaine, I'm going to bed. Where's Polly?"

Horace whistled to the green parrot, who seemed to think he was hers. Guybrush scribbled a note down, handed it to Murray, who gave it to Polly. "Take it to Elijah, Polly," he told the bird, who whistled and looked intelligent. She took off, flew a short distance out, and vanished--drawn instantly to the companion stone Elaine wore. Only then did Guybrush let them steer him back inside.

* * *

  
Elaine unfolded the note and scanned her husband's untidy scrawl. "They've got the first part. Now we can go in."

She tucked the scrap of paper into her pocket and signaled to Lemonhead. He raised his map of the area. "Harrbi narmsi addifec su.." he recited, and the ship vanished from sight.


	5. Desperate Times...

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter Four: Desperate Times...

* * *

Big Whoop waited calmly in his throne room, watching the last of the settlers getting established on the very island on which he'd marooned Guybrush. Oh, the irony...especially since that Guybrush would not be bothering him again, not ever. He'd toyed briefly with the idea of going down to inform Chariset that her brother was dead, but reconsidered. Entertaining as her reaction would surely be, it would be even more fun to send Elaine down to tell her in person. The red-haired woman had outlived her usefulness.

In the meantime, it would be amusement enough to see Guybrush's former crew deal with this news that their Captain was dead and gone, burned to a cinder in a ring of magical flames. Such a pity, since that group had shown every sign up until now of being willing and able to work together...until now. He smirked. They were remarkably calm, but eventually the loss of that _Threepwood_ would hit home...and that would be that. Not wanting to miss this, he watched with outwardly calm yet rapt interest.

_Ah..there_... Two of the crew members were having an argument. Hardly surprising, it was the man named Murray and an elegantly slim pirate with one eye. A third joined them-the mousey little fop named Horace. Big Whoop slightly regretted losing Murray, who had been an able soldier, but Horace was no great loss.

He couldn't hear sound, but the issue appeared to be whether or not to move on...Horace had a map and was waving and pointing to it. Murray was arguing for traveling elsewhere, the one-eyed pirate was arguing just as strongly against. Horace was putting in a point half-heartedly for either side.

Something halted this heated debate in mid-gesture--the two participants stopped short and stared at the door to the Captain's cabin. The monster smirked again. What member of this motley group had named himself leader now?

A long pause, as though someone inside was speaking to those outside, then the door opened a crack. Big Whoop caught sight of only a glimpse of the occupant....one tired eye, a long nose, a faded blue nightshirt....and tensed in every magma muscle. No....it couldn't be...

"What's wrong, Daddy?" A cool hand rested gently on his shoulder as the owner of the voice hovered beside his ear to see better.

Despite his frustration, Big Whoop smiled a little. Odia was his greatest achievement. She had the delicate-boned grace of her mother, the luck of her father, a face that was neither long nor round but cutely triangular, and intelligent blue eyes. Her black hair, imperfectly confined by a red ribbon, strayed over her shoulders and tickled his nose. And every gene of her remarkable heritage was his to use as he pleased.

Don't misunderstand me, Reader--Big Whoop never would and never could have loved anyone but himself. His every moral fiber was bent towards one purpose--his own enrichment. Yet even with all this taken into account, if that unfeeling heart could have cared for anything in the world, it might have been for his 'daughter.' Anyone else he would have destroyed without hesitation--but he would have hesitated just a second before killing her.

All her love for him, genuine love, would buy her an instant more life, and that was all. Still, he _almost_ felt fondness toward her.

"It's nothing serious, Precious. Just a loose end Daddy hasn't tied up yet." She smiled a little and so did he as they gazed into the pool of lava. That _Threepwood_ had gone back inside the cabin, where he shambled over to a window seat as though every joint ached. He sat down heavily, chin in hands, clearly trying to brood and just as clearly too tired to think straight. Good. Let him suffer.

"He still doesn't look all that dangerous, Daddy," Odia ventured.

"Has he ever looked dangerous?" She chuckled at his pained tone. "But he is. In fact, he hates you. Even more than he hates me."

She narrowed her innocent eyes...for a girl named 'Hatred,' she had a very scant grasp of the concept. "But why?"

He feigned a thoughtful expression. "I...I don't really know why. But I'm sure he does."

"Why?" she asked again.

"He has to. No one would act that way towards you who didn't hate you."

Her puzzled eyes spoke volumes. A slight throat-clearing pause, as though what he was about to say was difficult and painful. "Odia, it's time for you to learn the truth about yourself. You see, that man there.....he is your real father."

Her hand on his magma-skin went clammy and cold. "I always knew....you couldn't be....but I.." she shook her head. "That can't be! He's your worst enemy! I'm nothing like him!"

"That last is true, dearest daughter." Big Whoop cupped his own hand around her chin and gently lifted her face towards the light. "For so long I feared that his taint was in your blood, but you are too pure to be anything impure." Technically true, a legal move in his little game. It was his turn, and he was going to use it well. "I spared you for as long as I could, but you are old enough to know the real story..."

He had a piece of bait waiting for just this moment.....and conversational angling was his favorite pass-time. Time to cast.

And so the 'real story' was told--minus certain details, of course--the story of a young couple who landed on the island, where they encountered a strange and foreboding cave in a place held holy by the locals. There, the man (apparently afraid to risk his own skin) sent his pregnant wife into the mountain with an escort of one--and then fled to the end of the Caribbean, leaving them stranded. Big Whoop as a matter of course had taken them in and cared for them.

But then the bride and escort were abducted from the depths of the island by a third party, the equally conniving sister of the husband, herself a spirit. Big Whoop had previously (fairly and impartially) judged her guilty of crimes against humanity and had taken steps to right the balance, but she broke the contract they had painstakingly negotiated. Acting entirely on her own, she spirited the two out of Big Whoop's protection but just 'happened' to leave Odia behind. Big Whoop could not say so himself, but he could strongly imply that the sister-spirit had wanted the body of the woman's child for herself, and imply he did. The rightful owner of that body, the baby spirit that was Odia, had simply been discarded.

A convoluted plotline, and one with more logical holes than Swiss cheese in paragraph form, but since it was all clearly a betrayal of _her_, Odia listened in uncritical horror. Big Whoop was a good storyteller, and he left her clearly torn between shock and outrage, with a good deal of rejection thrown in.

They had left her behind, all of them....

Big Whoop hastened to reassure her that he had been outraged at their behavior, and rightly so. After all, the Threepwoods had a long history of a cruelty to _him_ as well. Perhaps it was only to be expected. But he wasn't after revenge...oh no...he only wanted the balance of right and wrongs to be restored. It was dangerously imbalanced, even now after all he had done to put things right, because of the actions of this Guybrush and his sister. But now there was no way he could stop the situation.

"Why not?" asked Odia, drawn in despite herself.

Because that Guybrush had managed to elicit from him a promise that Big Whoop would never kill him on the premises. And Guybrush was darn hard to kill anywhere else. "I thought I had him cornered just a moment ago...but there he is. I can bruise him, I can even hurt him....but I can't do the one thing that would bring balance to this world. I can't bring him to justice."

"But maybe...I could.." A nibble on the line.

She would destroy her own father for his sake...not just his sake, of course, but for the sake of clearing accounts?

Odia took a deep breath, beginning to realize what exactly 'clearing accounts' might mean. "What did you do to the sister?" she asked finally.

Big Whoop let himself smile just a little, inwardly. It was a hesitant strike, but the bait was well and truly taken. "Let me show you."

* * *

  
Two days later, Odia hovered in the center of the Big Whoop's "back room" alone, looking at all the frozen, still faces of her family.....and she felt nothing but shame. "How could you do it?" she demanded of the block which contained the woman Chariset, her blood-relative. "How could you abandon me?"

_But I didn't_.... she thought she heard a sad voice whisper in reply. _ I'm doing everything I can to get you back_...

"Lies," Odia growled, tone low but fierce. "You would say that. I'm descended from a long line of liars and oath-breakers." Disgust was a bitter taste in her mouth.

_We are the only ones who can tell you the truth,_ that distant echo of a voice protested, but Odia was already gone.

* * *

Chariset sensed the presence fading and slumped back into the darkness, defeated. Odia was bound for Blood Island, with intent to attack Guybrush and take him alive....she didn't care how badly she had to hurt him to do so. Then away to Big Whoop...and there was nothing she could do about it, no way to warn him. She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed, feeling sick in her very soul.

Some time later--it might have measured in hours or days--a thread began to unravel in the fabric of her little world.....and a Presence looked in. Where before had been darkness, suddenly there was a great Light--and she found herself meeting a strange Regard, from an Eye that saw everything. A Something had discovered her tiny hole in the cosmic wall.

That gaze pinned her mid-way through a desperate scrabble backwards against the wall and held her fast. She was the cornered mouse under the cat's paw.

"I see you, Spirit." The voice resonated in her tiny prison--if she needed her ears to hear, she would have been deafened.

"What do you want?" Chariset felt suffocated, as though a weight were crushing the breath out of her.

"I want what I have come for."

A pressure that was completely indescribable closed around her then, as though every air molecule in the world had suddenly pressed itself to her side. If suddenly her clothing in the world of the living had turned into solid stone and enveloped her from neck to ankle, that might have been something like the grasp of this Hand--except that stone could only touch her body. This was a Hand that seized her very soul..

"You."

All Chariset could remember in that instant was a moment from her childhood. She was a little girl with a live guppy in her hand, running to show her catch to Mommy. She ran and ran--but when she opened her grubby little hand to show off her prize, the tiny fish was crushed and dead in her hand. _Now I know how that felt_, she thought wildly. _I'm so sorry, guppy_...

The Hand dragged her away, up and out of the temple, and then everything became Light.

* * *

"This is what we used to call 'The Monkey's Eye'," Lemonhead explained, leading the attack party into a deep crater at the western end of the island--an extinct volcano, from the looks of things. The sad remains of an old fort stood on one rim, abandoned.

Elaine had never been to this side of Monkey Island before...mostly because she had never been free to explore the island before. She confided quietly to Holly on the careful hike down to the bottom that, if she weren't so worried about her baby/her family/the prospect of a giant lava monster destroying their entire world, she'd be whole-heartedly enjoying this. Even as it was, she was having a fairly good time. Elijah, riding her shoulder, seemed to share the mood of general cheerfulness.

The path was narrow, rutted, and overgrown--it wound in endless circles down the inside of this crater, whose walls were far steeper than she had imagined. There was a high bank on one side, a long drop down on the other, and the path itself curved in a U under their feet, more of a rut than a trail. Elaine carried a walking-stick about five feet long, with a hook at one end to catch anyone who might fall over, and she carefully kept herself between Holly and the edge. In front of them was Lemonhead, behind them was a column of sailors, with Largo and Nic bringing up the rear. All of them, she realized, glancing back, looked just as cautious about the steep and narrow trail as she felt.

"How much farther is it?" she called to Lemonhead.

"We're about halfway down," he yelled back. "We put a shrine to the great Monkey Spirit at the bottom of this hollow, but no one's been here in years."

So it seemed. The path was lined with green jungle growth, and the wall to Elaine's right, was clearly decorated with symbols and paintings but overgrown and uncared-for. She wondered if the presence of the fort had anything to do with it. It had been used once, surely....probably by owners who wouldn't appreciate cannibal rituals going on in their backyard.

"If this is where the Monkey Spirit lives, why did you build the Monkey Head?" she asked their guide.

He looked slightly uncomfortable (no mean feat, for a lemon). "This...didn't make a good place to worship. It's not very accessible. Besides....most people who come here and meet the Monkey Spirit don't want to come back."

She frowned a little, puzzled....Holly looked blank. "What does that mean?" the little red-head half-demanded.

"It means...." he paused. Elaine waited patiently. "You're not going to believe this, but the Monkey Spirit makes it very clear that he doesn't want to see anyone more than once." _Picky spirit_, thought Elaine. "Once, sure...he'll talk to you if you know the right words. But if you try to go back, you just...can't."

"You _do_ know the right words, right?"

"I think so. It's been a while."

"You _think_ so?" This from Holly. "You mean, you aren't sure?"

"It has to be one of two....I just can't remember which one."

Ah, that wouldn't be a problem, Elaine thought. They'd just send two of the soldiers in, one with each, and find out which one was right. She suggested as much to Lemonhead.

"That'd work," he agreed reservedly. "But you'd better have brave volunteers for your little experiment. The Monkey Spirit wouldn't be happy with someone who gave him the wrong password." Something in his tone suggested that 'not happy' was the very least of what he would be.

"We have brave men," she replied. "I don't want anyone to get hurt, but I think we'll be all right."

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance," offered a new voice from her left. Elaine's eyes widened--whoever said that must have been standing in mid-air..

She was. Chariset Threepwood, Elaine's sister-in-law, was standing motionless on absolutely nothing as calmly as if she did this every day. She was wearing flowing white robes but with a white bandana tied around her head and silver hoop earrings, looking like a pirate angel. A sunbeam made the loose strands of her brown hair into a bronzish halo around her face.

The spirit cocked her head to one side, a completely Chari-ish mannerism. "Want some help?"

Lemonhead had turned a much paler shade of yellow at the sight of Elaine's ghostly companion--most of the troop, up to and including Nic, her former navigator, seemed to be in shock--so Elaine took the initiative. "I'm not sure if you can help with this one, Chari," she began slowly. "We need to speak to the Great Monkey Spirit--" the ghost was frowning a little "--but we don't know the right password."

She brightened considerably. "Oh, that. I know all about spirits."

Just then Holly, who was apparently Elaine's self-appointed bodyguard (something the ex-pirate governor found amusing) recovered enough to push forward. "Who're you?" she demanded without preamble.

"Holly, I'm surprised at you." Chariset folded her arms mock-indignantly. "All that time I spent with you on Myth Island and you don't even remember me?"

As the little red-head gaped at her, Chari softened her tone. "Well, I remember you, and Elaine, and Nic..." she gave a nod to each member of the party in turn, even to Largo at the end of the line. Almost plaintively: "You still don't know me, Holly?"

"Chari?"

"None other."

"But....how?" Holly's abbreviated gesture indicated both her spirit form and the fact that she was out now, in broad daylight.

"I don't have time to explain. If you want the password, listen carefully." She beckoned Elaine closer and whispered in her ear, "The words are Ab-Na-Sa-Lam. Good luck to you."

Without another word, she vanished.

Elaine had dealt with hostile spirits before, but even a friendly ghost gave her the metaphorical creeps. She shook off a cold shiver and turned to address a line of nervous soldiers.

"My sister-in-law risked her afterlife to get us this password," she told them directly, trying to sound business-like and untroubled. "The very least we can do it use it. Mr. Lemonhead, which way to the cave?"

"Right down here, Governor. Of course, any who wish to can wait here..." His tone was meaningful, and the nervous murmurs which had been building subsided.

"Lead the way." She turned smartly on her heel and followed after, trailed by Nic and the soldiers...and an exceedingly reluctant Largo.

* * *

The voodoo priestess had to use all her will to keep from getting her bulk out of her chair and pacing in anxiety. Her vaguest intuitions were stronger than most people's thoughts, and not the faintest premonition of evil touched her mind. But something was wrong. She knew that something must be. She hadn't heard a thing but good news from Guybrush and Elaine--and that meant that something must be wrong.

_I need_....._something_..._some better source of information_. _I need something like the Daemon_...

A thread of insight danced through her consciousness.

Dared she do it?

_If Big Whoop takes over, none of us will live to regret our decisions_, she decided. _This isn't precisely right, but neither is it precisely wrong_...

She summoned Polly to her right hand. "Go find the Necromancer for me," she said. "Tell him I need him to come here with whatever equipment he uses for a spirit-summoning, and to hurry."

The parrot was gone with a flash of feathers. Good. With any luck, he would be here before she lost her nerve.

* * *

Elaine paced five slow steps into the mouth of the tunnel. Five more. The dark earth reflected no light from outside, nor did the tunnel feature anything like lamps or torches. But it had been well-built--the floor remained even, and the walls were lined with some kind of tile in patterns. Not a single tile had fallen from its place--her tentative touch on the opposite walls determined that. Five more.

Twenty-five paces. "Okay, Holly, bring them in!"

A slow shuffle of feet, while the light behind her was reduced to a few flickers by the bodies of her crew in the doorframe. "Come on, come on," she urged under her breath. "We haven't got all day."

The truth of the matter was that the close quarters and darkness of the cave reminded her too much of Big Whoop's lair--now the escape route was closed. She wished she had the luxury of being able to lose her nerve and stay outside, with Nic and Largo. _Be calm, be calm_.... She took two deep breaths, but the tightness in her chest didn't lessen. _Just a few minutes and you can go back_.

"Is everyone here?" she asked when the shuffling had come to a halt. Elijah shifted on her shoulder with a faint rustle of feathers.

"Everyone, Governor." That was Holly, using the honorific for the first time since Elaine had known her. Holly's own nervousness was evident in her tone. "How much farther is it?"

"About two dozen steps in, the tunnel should curve. Then you'll be right in front of the shrine," called Lemonhead from outside.

"I'm twenty-five in already," Elaine called back.

"Then you should be right at the curve. Keep your hands on in front of you, so you don't run into the wall."

She did so. Two paces on, her hands encountered tile. Wall to the left, empty space to the right.

"Hug the corner and watch your step," she advised the men. "Wait here....I'll go first and give him the password."

"I'm coming with you," Holly immediately insisted. Elijah _bwaaaaack_ed.

Elaine hesitated. "All right, but stay close. I don't know what we're up against."

They slipped around the corner into a blackness that was slightly more gray. Two more steps and they could see the walls, three more and they could see each other. Five more, and they could see the Monkey Shrine..

It wasn't too impressive, as idols go--a low, thin column in the center of the tunnel with a squat monkey-creature perched on top. But just as Elaine was mentally dismissing the tiny statue, two red gems set in the face flared with light--she had the distinctive impression it had opened its eyes and looked at them.

And knew them. "Welcome Governor Elaine Threepwood. And welcome to your guests, Ms. Holly Feed, Mr. Elijah.." The words were neither spoken nor thought--they were written in the air between them and the small monkey. "What can I do for you?"

Ah. Apparently this was a receptionist of sorts. "We need to speak with the Great Monkey Spirit," Elaine started, feeling on much more familiar ground. Bureaucratic procedure was an old, familiar game to her. "Can you arrange a meeting?"

"That depends..." If the monkey had been able to lean back and steeple his fingers, Elaine had the impression he would have. "Why do you need to see him?"

"We have reason to believe that a resident of this island is stealing power from the island spirit. He appears to be borrowing from the life-energy of other people to cover his own debt, keeping them in captivity under the pretense of justice." _If I'd known board meetings were just like talking to the spirit of an island, I'd have enjoyed them more_, she thought lightly, all the while keeping her businesslike mein in place.

"I see. This is a serious charge indeed, and one which needs to be dealt with immediately, if it is true." The words faded from sight, and Elaine got the impression the spirit was thinking. "And you are not someone who would lie, even though I see that this is a matter which concerns you personally. Very well, I shall admit you..." The letters vanished again, and she unconsciously crossed her hands over her stomach. "If you can provide the correct password."

"We can. The password is Ab-Na-Sa-Lam."

There was a dead silence.

Behind the receptionist, a pair of red eyes, either of which would be bigger than Holly, flared open.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" demanded the largest monkey head Elaine had ever seen, in blood-red letters five feet high. The ground trembled. Elijah _bwaaaaack_ed in terror, nearly deafening his bearer, spreading both wings wide. Holly's eyes had gone round, and she was backing away.

"I...I said Ab-Na-Sa--"

"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!" The eyes blazed incandescently, dazzling her vision with green afterimages. "THAT YOU SHOULD HAVE THE NERVE TO SAY IT TWICE, LET ALONE ONCE, ASTONISHES ME."

"Run, Holly," said Elaine in an undertone, interposing herself between the girl and the idol. To the Spirit: "We were given that phrase as the password, Monkey. Are y--"

"THEN YOU WERE DECEIVED."

Footsteps in the hallway--the men were running.

"I was given that password by someone who would not lie!" Elaine's own blood was beginning to boil at this point. "How dare you call my sister-in-law--my _dead_ sister-in-law--a liar!"

"IGNORANT WOMAN! THERE IS NO POINT IN PUNISHING SOMEONE FOR STUPIDITY, SO I WILL LET YOU LIVE. WAKE UP AND SEE THE TRUTH, GOVERNOR! HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR MY FORBEARANCE, YOUR DEAR DEAD SISTER-IN-LAW WOULD HAVE GOTTEN YOU KILLED!"

"She wouldn't do that!"

"I GROW TIRED OF YOUR DENIAL. LEAVE THIS PLACE BEFORE I BECOME TRULY ANGRY."

"Now you listen to me, you monster." Gone was caution and reason--Elaine was going to get through to this thick-headed, hide-bound entity. "Wake up and smell the seaweed. You've sat here safe on the other side of the island for centuries while _my_ family and now _my_ sister-in-law and _my_ daughter have been used and exploited--and now you actually have to do something about it. You had your price for your power--you didn't care where it came from or who had to suffer for it. But now you've been called on it....and instead of actually going out and righting a wrong, you're sitting here stalling me with this nonsense on passwords!" She actually spat at the base of the column. "I used to think there was only one monster on this island--now I know I was wrong. You and Big Whoop are two of a [unprintable pirate obscenity] kind!"

Silence.

The monkey's red gaze bored into her own, but she held her ground. She was an angry mother fighting for her child, and nothing was going to move her from this spot.

But the air was vibrating with an invisible force--the Monkey Spirit's silent shriek of rage--and then a wall of wind and fire slammed into her and shoved her viciously against the back tiles. She curled herself around her abdomen, instinctively trying to protect her child--and the scouring hot wind dropped completely. Unsupported, she fell to the cave floor just as another rushing blast of pure fire swept over her head.

"BEGONE!" The words hummed in the rush of the flames as they howled over her, scorching her clothing. Fire hissed and crackled over her shoulders, but she curled into a ball and endured.

A small eternity crept by. "WHY WILL YOU NOT GO, WOMAN??"

She dragged in a scorching-hot breath. "Because we need your help!"

"WELL, YOU PICKED A FINE WAY TO ASK FOR IT!"

Without warning, she was seized in a whirlwind of force and dragged down the tunnel, rolling and tumbling, completely disoriented. It dropped her just outside the cave mouth, facedown into the sand, with the nonchalance of a housewife throwing out the trash. Next to her was a disheveled and abused red parrot.

The soldiers clustered around her, taking her hands, helping her to sit up. More words were ringing in her mind. "BEGONE, WOMAN. NEVER RETURN."

"It was the wrong password," she croaked at Lemonhead's dumbfounded expression.

"I'd...guessed as much." He coughed delicately. "So what do we do now?"

Elaine looked over her scorched and blackened clothing. "I don't know," she admitted. "Chari made a mistake and gave us the wrong password--at least, I think it was a mistake. And I...lost my temper in there."

"Well, according to the rules, no one who went in can return. That leaves....you two."

His gaze was resting on Nic and Largo, who blanched. It was clear than neither of them wanted to go in after seeing Elaine come out.

She sighed. "Give me a few minutes--I've got to and write to Guybrush and tell him we've hit a snag. And change. And after that....I'll think of something." _I hope_.

* * *

  
Late afternoon. The _Sea Cucumber_ dropped neatly into existence on a calm sea well off the coast of Blood Island. From the first instant her keel touched water, her Captain sensed trouble.

"Mr. van Helgen?" Guybrush called to the tall pirate who was helping Wally and Murray determine exactly where their destination island lay. "Does something seem....wrong to you?"

The elegant man paused and looked around. "Something does seem slightly off, but I can't pinpoint a source.."

Guybrush looked up--and saw the problem. "The sun. Does it look....reddish to you?"

"There must be a great deal of smoke in the air," commented van Helgen. "It seems to be coming from--"

"Over there!" Wally was pointing off towards the western sky.

"Over there," echoed the barber pirate.

"On Blood Island." The sense of wrongness intensified.

"Maybe it's just the volcano," offered Murray.

"I hope so," Guybrush replied "But we've got to hurry and warn the Goodsoups, even though it's probably nothing serious." _We seem to have a habit of destroying islands_, he reflected.

"Aye. Never hurts to be on the safe side." And with Haggis' backing, not that it was critically important, the men of the _Cucumber_ practically skipped her hull across the waves. Ten minutes later, the cone of Mt. Acidophilus came into view.

A cone that was spouting lava like a mountain possessed. Clouds of black, billowing smoke puffed up--smoke signals of the damned--and the surrounding countryside was catching fire. Lines of orange separated green jungle from blackened, smoking wasteland.

At the edge of the ocean, the last holdouts remained. They were standing on a narrow spit of the land at Blood's southernmost edge, a little rise of land on which was perched a lighthouse. They were cornered. A finger of lava had made its way towards them with uncanny accuracy and had rushed up the spur just far enough that there was no escaping back to the mainland. The small and desperate huddle of people was trapped.

To make matters worse, the wind was picking up, and the waves began crashing into the island with tremendous force. The _Sea Cucumber_ wallowed in the swells, found her balance, swayed again. Some kind of tremendous storm was in the making.

"We've got to get in there and save them!" yelled Guybrush over the roar of the surf.

"But how?" protested van Helgen. "We can't get the ship to the mainland and we can't get a rowboat onto that spur."

"Can you get the _Cucumber_ in next to the lighthouse?"

"Are you mad?" Murray had joined the conversation. "Look at those rocks! Look at the waves! If we try to drop anchor in there, we'll be dashed into the spur."

"This is from Big Whoop--I'm sure of it. Murray, we _brought_ this on them!"

The deck pitched, throwing them all off-balance. The cannons strained at their ropes. "Guybrush, you don't know that! Listen, I know it sounds hard, but sticking around here to get ourselves killed won't help anyone. And there's just no way to get out there and get those people on board."

Guybrush, thinking hard, scarcely heard him. "Wait a minute--Elijah!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Where's Elijah? Or Polly? I've got an idea."

"Elijah's with Elaine, and Polly's back on Plunder. Why?"

Another bad swell. Guybrush got a two-handed grip on the port rail and held on, nails digging into the wood. _Elijah, come here_. _We need you_.

The red parrot appeared out of mid-air--and was blown back ten feet by the unexpected rush of wind. He wallowed back, head low, where Guybrush freed a hand and caught him.

The crew reacted predictably to the appearance of the parrot out of nowhere, but Guybrush ignored their startled expressions, removing the thin spirit-cord he'd been wearing around his neck--the cord that carried a small purplish stone of summoning. He wound it carefully around Elijah's neck, giving him one end to hold in his beak.

"Listen to me, Elijah," he told the bird over the howling wind. "Go up to that group of people and make sure that each person is touching part of this. Then grab the cord and bring everyone back here, just the same way you come here. Do you understand?"

"_Bwaaaaack_!"

Elijah launched himself into the storm, circling around to the lee of the lighthouse. "What was that all about?" asked Murray.

"I think Elijah can..carry them over to the ship. We need to buy him some time."

Nine men out of ten would demand to know why Guybrush thought a parrot could carry several people through the air--but Murray was the one out of ten. "All right, Threepwood. If you say he can do it, he can. How much time do we need?"

Guybrush flashed him a real smile. Maybe this would work out, after all. "Not long, I hope."

"Good, because that's what we've got!"

The _Sea Cucumber_ shuddered as a large swell hit her, side on. No rain yet, thankfully. "Horace!" called Haggis. "Where's your map?"

Guybrush caught sight of the small man hiding in the shelter of the doorframe of the Captain's cabin. "Stay there!" he called, as Horace tried to come out into the wind. "Be ready to send us to Monkey Island as soon as those people are on board."

Horace, only too glad not to have to figure that part out, nodded and remained where he was, holding the map out of the wind. Two fat raindrops, warning shots, splatted onto the deck.

"Whatever you're planning, lad, you'll have tae do it fast," Haggis shouted. "She can't take much more of this."

"It won't be much longer," Guybrush yelled back. "Clear some room in the center of the deck--we're going to have some guests drop in."

* * *

He had no idea why a parrot was out in the middle of the storm, nor why it flew right up to him, nor why it wanted him to hold something. But the moment he touched the strange white cord....

A dim world without a sun. Sad spirits drifting through a parody of a real town, a real world. A gentle giant and a woman with sad eyes. And over all, a shadow laced with overtones of despair, a monstrous creature made of lava.

But over everything was an all-pervading idea, a sense of unity. Family.

And 'family' was a concept that Griswold Goodsoup understood very well indeed.

"I get the sense that this bird can be...trusted," he told the squat, broad-shouldered man beside him, huddled under the scant shelter of the lighthouse. " Maybe someone sent him to lead us out of here."

"If you say so." Mort, the gravedigger, had a voice which could only be described as 'reedy,' but he and Griswold had been friends and bar-mates for years. "I mean, it's not like we have anywhere else to go."

"This is a bad omen!" The speaker was the local doomsayer, and she was good at it. "No good parrot would be flying around in a storm like this!"

"Do you have any...other suggestions, Madame Xima?"

She scowled. "Well, no."

The three huddled against the wall as the wind picked up. Smoke was rising in billows from the ruined Blood Island before them.

"We certainly don't have anything to lose if we..." began Griswold.

"I don't see the harm in...." Mort, simultaneously.

A sigh from Xima. "There's nothing here. Let's just go."

Griswold addressed the sodden red parrot, waiting in the rain with apparent patience. "All right, bird. What do you want us to do?"

* * *

Elijah grasped the cord carefully in one foot, maintaining a perch on the broad back of the man the other two called Mort with the other. He was doing his job. All three held one strand of the thread. Now, to launch himself back to the Guybrush-man-Chari-brother-person...

_Elijah_! _Come back here right now_!

The Elaine-woman-Guybrush-man-mate person! She was calling him! He was late, and now he would have to jump back to where she was.

Without a second's hesitation, he flung himself across the gap of space, completely forgetting that he dragged three other people with him.

* * *

All was disorientation-and then, out of nowhere, sunlight. They were on a beach Griswold had never seen before in his life. Xima and Mort were sitting on the sand, dizzy and disoriented.

His mind was spinning. Where _were_ they?

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" A red-haired woman stormed across the sand, trailed by half a dozen men and a small girl.

Griswold's mind, quite understandably, now ceased to work altogether. He had held a cord for a parrot and now he was on a completely different island on a calm sea with an angry woman demanding to know why he was there.

"I....I don't know, madam..." He backpedaled, throwing up both hands helplessly. "I just followed this parrot, and.."

"Elijah!" For some reason, this doubled the woman's fury. "I don't know why you're messing with this bird, but you'd better start explaining yourself."

"Madam, I don't know!" He felt desperate. "We were out in a storm and this parrot came up with this cord--"

She caught sight of the thin white line with a reddish stone dangling from it and gasped. "Guybrush..."

"I really should be going.."

"Oh no. You're staying _right_ here until I get to the bottom of this."

"But I don't know anything!"

"We'll find that out." Men were circling around behind them.

"I haven't done anything!" Why wouldn't she just leave them alone? "We were in a storm and the parrot came and wanted us all to touch this rope--and we did--and suddenly we were here!"

She hesitated. "So you don't know how you got here?"

"No! I don't even know who you are! Or that woman with the sad eyes, or the lava monster, or--"

"_WHAT_?" Her tone climbed the scale. "You know about Big Whoop?"

"I know that my home was destroyed by a peaceful volcano," he retorted. "If it hadn't been for that parrot, we would all have been killed. It was almost like something was trying to destroy the island."

"I think...something was," she responded slowly, showing her first signs of doubt. "Excuse me a moment." The woman drew aside for a brief consultation with the red-haired girl, a native man wearing an enormous lemon mask, and a couple of the soldiers. "Big Whoop only attacks people who helped Guybrush...or me," she murmured in an undertone that carried just far enough to reach Griswold's ears. "Do you know any of these people?"

Apparently no one did. "I suppose we may as well find out who they are," she said, sounding resigned. "We really didn't need this complication right now."

The girl shrugged. "Let me give it a try." To Griswold: "Who're you?"

"Holly, you really need to work on your interview skills."

"Hey, you do it your way, Elaine, I do it mine."

Wait a second. "Did you say Elaine? As in the famous governor who destroyed LeChuck?" Griswold struggled to find his conversational feet. "I once had a Governor Elaine as a guest in my hotel, over a year ago--on your honeymoon, if I remember right."

She was frowning but listening. "That was miles from here, on Blood Island. The barkeeper kept calling Guybrush....'Vegetable,' or some nonsense."

"Vegetable--that was his name! A lanky man with...uh...unpronounced features."

"And loves to tell stories?"

"That's the one. I can hardly believe I nearly forgot about him."

"Which makes you.....Griswold? Of the Goodsoup restaurant chain?"

"At your service, madam." Finally someone who recognized the proud name of his ancestors....he wished he had lapels to adjust.

"Well, the man you call Vegetable is my husband, Guybrush. And last I heard, he was headed to Blood Island to see the famous volcano."

"If he was, Governor, I'm afraid he might be in trouble. That same volcano almost killed us. If not for that parrot--"

"Which he must have sent to rescue you. That explains everything." She chewed her lower lip briefly. "Mr. Goodsoup, I apologize for the discourtesy. You must have been through a lot. Let me show you and your friends to a tent while I try to get things sorted out."

"Elaine, are you sure this is such a good idea?" whispered a dark-haired man with a sharp-eyed look about him. "These people could be anyone."

"I know, Nic, but they don't have anywhere else to go. And Griswold's seen Big Whoop-and maybe Chari, too. Maybe they can help us."

Griswold thought briefly of the huge lava-beast and suppressed a shudder. This was a matter that affected an entire family name, he could see that now--and if he held anything sacred, it was family and heritage. Yes, he would help them.

* * *

Rain splattered the tiny piece of paper, blurring the inked lines, but not before Guybrush managed to read it over once. "Elaine says they landed where she is, on Monkey Island--everyone's all right," he called to the Barbery trio, Murray, and Horace, waving the note in the air. A gust of wind snatched it from his fingers, into the turbulent sea below. The ship creaked and groaned under their feet.

"Great news, lad! Can we go now?"

"I still need to go in there and try this spell. I'm going to jump over now, with Elijah--the rest of you get the _Sea Cucumber_ out of here. Get far enough away to be outside of the storm and wait--I'll jump back and we can take off for Monkey Island."

Haggis just blinked at him. "Lad, you're certifiably insane."

"I know it looks bad, but Elijah can always get me out if I get into trouble--"

"Which you will, lad, I guarantee it."

Guybrush dashed his wet hair out of his eyes. "If I don't go in there, then we put our lives in danger for nothing. What use is it going to be if we saved the Goodsoups and then let Big Whoop take over? How long do you think they'll last, once he takes over the Caribbean and kills us all?"

He sighed. "I suppose you have a point, laddie. But you're not going in there alone."

"Of course you aren't." That was Murray. "Going alone isn't even an option."

"Fine....me, Elijah, and Murray. Give us an hour--if we're not back, sail on. We'll all meet up at the rendevous point on Dinky Island."

"I don't like it, lad. Big Whoop almost killed ya last time."

"I don't either, Haggis....but this curse is on my family. I'm the only one who can put it right."

* * *

A shocking instant of disorientation, a second's dizziness, and they stood on blackened earth under a yellow sky. The volcano shuddered and trembled, shaking the ground, filling their ears with its roar. Guybrush clutched the packet of herbs the Voodoo Priestess had given him in one hand, the blue stone in the other, and climbed slowly up the crater, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling. Murray, his face grim, followed behind.

Pieces of ash drifted like snow past his face. The heat, already intense, was creeping towards unbearable. He blotted his forehead on his sleeve and pushed on.

And then they were at the crater itself, lava pouring from one end like blood from a wound. They were high, high above the surface of the molten rock, sitting on the mountainside over the volcano's vent. Scorchingly hot winds blasted up at them.

"Here goes nothing!" yelled Guybrush over the roar of the furnace below.

He tossed the bag of herbs into the air, watching it float down....down....unbearably slowly, as though it sank through water instead of air. The cauldron bubbled and seethed to welcome it--

Without warning, the surface of the lava went utterly still. Its color faded rapidly from bright red-orange...to red....to dark red....and then a band of gray swept it from one side to the next.

The bag of herbs landed on solid, cold stone.

Guybrush stared in disbelief--and the mountainside caved in under his hands. It swept him away in a wave of earth, leaving Murray and Elijah untouched just a few feet away, watching as their friend tumbled down the side of a crater, somehow always on top of the moving earth, never buried.

From Guybrush's point of view, of course, he had no idea exactly what had happened until he landed _spang_ on the solid gray rock below.

Sparks danced in his field of vision. _What on earth_--? Why wasn't he dead?

"Hello, Dad," said a female voice.

Guybrush got unsteadily to his feet. Somehow, he had landed in the exact center of the crater--in the exact center of a pattern of cracks which was forming within the caldera.

The new stone heaved, shook, broke apart like a spring-thawed river.....except for the large circle on which he stood. He stood trapped on an island in the very heart of the volcano.

And not alone. "Odia?"

A spirit-woman was walking across the surface of the boiling rock, as though reminding him that he couldn't do the same. "Why, Daddy. It's been a long time."

All he could do was stare. She was beautiful enough to break hearts, with Elaine's surefooted stride and Chariset's eyes--the same eyes their mother had. That he had to face her down now, when all he wanted was to love and be proud of her, was almost enough to break him in two.

"Whatsa matter? Cat got your tongue, Pops?" She smirked at him, but he sensed a real anger behind her cat-and-mouse banter. "I knew you'd show up sooner or later, you deadbeat."

That hurt. "Odia, listen to me. Whatever Big Whoop's told you about me is a lie. I love you. I never wanted to leave you behind."

"Ha! You'd know about that, wouldn't you, King-of-Lies? Big Whoop is the only one who's ever told me the truth."

"Big Whoop's the only one who's told you anything! He never let us speak to you. All you've heard is one side of the story."

"Pah. I don't have time for this. You think you can turn me against the only person who's ever loved me? You think that, just because you never cared about me, no one should? Ha. Big Whoop's my Daddy now."

Guybrush felt that sentence like a physical knife through his heart. _Big Whoop, you should have just killed me, frozen me, anything but this! _"Odia....I love you," he repeated helplessly.

If she knew what she was doing to him, she didn't care. "Then prove it." She reached out, grasped the thin spirit-cord he'd been wearing (with its stone of summoning), ripped it from his neck, and dropped it into the lava. It sizzled once and was gone. "Now. Surrender to me and come with me to see Daddy--" he visibly flinched "--and we'll sort this out, once and for all."

If he surrendered, he would die. That was not even a question.

But, whispered some instinctive voice from he knew not where, if he took that blue stone he was holding and threw it at her, into her spirit-substance, the magic of the stone would cancel out the magic that sustained her. She would be disintegrated, but her power over nature would fade out--it might be enough to settle the volcano and free him.

His life, or his daughter's. Only one of them could live.

No father should ever, ever have to make that choice.

But he never hesitated. Without a word, he met her eyes and slowly and deliberately cast the stone aside, out of his reach. It rolled, hit the surface of the lava, and vanished.

"I won't fight you, Odia," he said quietly. "I surrender."

* * *

Chalked lines framed a geometric pattern on the floor, each angle of which was supported by a candle of symbolic color. It was more complex than the simple pentagram which is the popular conception of such a set-up....it was four different geometric shapes, each in a different color, each overlapping to shelter an area in the very center. When those like the Necromancer wish to call up spirits without harming them, this ornate pattern was chosen. It took hours to set up, but neither he nor the priestess was taking any chances.

The time was midnight. The only illumination was from the candles and the stars as the old priest chanted phrases committed to memory through long usage. The Voodoo Priestess hovered anxiously by, waiting for her turn to take up the ritual. She couldn't believe her own daring, but there was no turning back now.

The green candles abruptly extinguished themselves, while the green chalk lines on the floor took on their own light, forming a glowing shape on the floor. The light extended upward into the smoky air, giving the impression of walls.

Blue candles out. White. Yellow. The pattern, now complete, blazed in all-colors in the darkness.

"I see you, Spirit," intoned the priestess.

She pushed her awareness in and down, seeking the spirit world of Monkey Island, finding the signature of the life-form she sought.

The soul was aware of her--it tried to run or struggle, but she caught it with her 'hands' and carried it up, out, 'releasing' it into the center of the glowing pattern on the boards.

Only then, perspiring and breathing hard from the effort, did she open her eyes. Something in reality _snapped_ indescribably...and a flare of multi-colored light, blossoming the way ink blooms in water, erupted into view, contained by the colored walls, focused and reshaped.

It coalesced into a human shape, and then it was Chariset Threepwood, disoriented and confused, who stared at them from within the confines of the geometric design.


	6. Unexpected Resources

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter Five: Unexpected Resources

  


* * *

  
_Who_? _Where_? _What happened_? _Where am I_?

She was suspended in a twelve-sided column of light, each side a different color. The golden air in which she floated felt warm and slightly sticky, more like water than air--or at least, water as she remembered it. So strange to be able to feel things again...and yet, so enjoyable. She drifted. I t was a welcoming atmosphere, as though it had been created to sustain just such as her....

Maybe it was. She snapped back to full alertness. Those lovely rainbow walls were as solid as stone. Pleasant as this cage might be, it was still a cage.

"Big Whoop, what game are you playing now?" she demanded of the glowing air.

"This is no game, Spirit." She stiffened. It was the same voice which had spoken when the Hand appeared from the sky.

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

"You will not give me orders, Spirit. But, since you must eventually see my face..." The glowing air thickened, swirled, then drifted away, like mist. Through the now-transparent colored walls, she saw a man in elaborate orange and purple robes....and next to him was a large woman in a white dress.

"Oh no.."

The Necromancer. The Voodoo Priestess. They must be trying to rescue her.

"Stop!" She flew to the wall and pressed her hands against it. "You've got to send me back! If Big Whoop--"

"Silence." The priestess' expression never changed, but a stroke of magic cut Chariset's voice off in mid-word.

"But you don't understand!" The words died before they ever reached her lips. Try though Chariset might, the priestess prevented her from making a sound. " You're putting yourself in huge danger! Let me go back before Big Whoop realizes I'm gone!"

Nothing. She couldn't even mouth the words.

She stared at the priestess in open desperation, but the woman just watched impassively, as though she were waiting for something. The Necromancer, wearing all his ceremonial finery, was an elaborate statue at her side.

Frantically she threw herself into the colored walls. No use. The light might as well have been steel. She rocketed into the ceiling, only to come spiraling down, dazed, when she encountered solid boards. The floor she landed on was absolutely impermeable

_They're not going to let me out_, she realized dizzily.

This was no rescue after all. This was a carefully pre-planned kidnaping.

She looked up angrily to meet the blank expression of the Voodoo Lady._ So you betray my family, after all we've been through_? _You're going to force me to break the contract with Big Whoop and destroy us all_. _How could you_?_ Weren't things bad enough without your interference_?

"You will listen to me, Spirit." The words burned into her mind. "You will tell me everything you know about Big Whoop. You will speak only in reply to the questions I ask, and you will reply briefly and truthfully, to the extent of your knowledge. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she heard her own voice answer. _What's this_? _She kidnaped me to ask me things I would just **tell** her_?

"How many Threepwood spirits does Big Whoop hold prisoner?"

"Close to three hundred. There would be more, but he only takes people with the Threepwood name, not necessarily those of the bloodline. That is why he tries to abduct women before they are married, but men afterward." The answer was pulled out of her mind by force; she wasn't even allowed to choose the wording.

"Do you know why he only takes those who bear the name?"

"No."

"Do you have any guesses?"

"I speculate that that is Big Whoop's way of honoring his contract to the letter."

"Is Big Whoop the kind to abide by the letter of the law more than the spirit?"

"Yes."

The interrogation went on for hours. Where does Big Whoop keep his prisoners? What are his plans for them? Does she know who will be next? And every time, Chariset was forced, not allowed, to answer. She was truly puzzled.

But then, gradually, the answer became clear to her. _If a greater power than myself forces me to break the contract, without any cooperation on my part, then **I** cannot be held responsible_. Big Whoop would be angry at whomever was meddling with his property, but the property itself isn't to blame because it's been stolen

_Clever woman_! _She's given me a way to help my family without breaking the rules_.

The priestess eventually stepped aside, allowing the Necromancer to ask the questions. "Spirit, is there any more information we should know?"

Aha! Now they would know whether or not she understood what they were doing. "Yes, Necromancer."

"Tell us this information."

"Big Whoop was keeping me a prisoner in an underground chamber. It will be some time before he realizes I am gone."

Out of the corner of her eye, though she was not allowed to turn her head, Chariset saw the priestess smile a little.

"Anything else?"

"Yes."

"Tell us."

"My brother's unborn daughter is now full-grown in spirit, and Big Whoop has educated her well. She now hates the Threepwoods and is committed to their destruction. Shortly before I was taken from the spirit world, she came to my physical body and so I was able to overhear her words and intentions."

The compulsion carried her no farther. "What are her intentions?" asked the wizard.

"Odia is going to Blood Island, intending to intercept Guybrush. If she can, she means to trap him there and deliver him to Big Whoop. Alive."

Both of them looked troubled. "You will rest until morning," commanded the priestess. "When we have decided what to do with the information you have provided, you will help us."

"Yes, priestess." They left the room, and Chariset let her spirit form sink to the floor, landing in a neat pile in a way that physical joints never would have allowed. What a situation! But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to work this system.

* * *

  
That same night...

"Uh...excuse me? Lemonhead?"

"Largo? I must say, this is unexpected." It was, too....the cannibal hadn't seen LeChuck's ex-henchman say more than two words to anyone. Why in the name of Sherman did he want conversation now?

"Do you know where the Governor is?" Largo seemed very nervous and secretive about something.

"No, I haven't seen her since she went to her tent. I assumed she was asleep." The homely little man looked slightly relieved. "Largo...you're plotting something, aren't you?"

He scowled. "Why does everyone assume I'm up to something?"

"Because it's a safe assumption."

"Why? Just because I was with LeChuck for a while?" He didn't look the least bit ashamed. "Everyone makes bad choices sometimes. I just have to live with mine longer than most people."

"But you _are_ planning something," Lemonhead persisted.

He sighed. "Yes, I _am_ planning something. Congratulations, you're brilliant."

"If you're planning to overthrow the Governor and--"

"What kind of idiot do you take me for?" Largo kept his voice down, but the scorn was apparent. "Overthrow the Governor? And then what, hang around here on Monkey Island and wait for Big Whoop to come pick us up? Please." He shook his homely head. "I know good leaders and bad...believe me...and Big Whoop is just another LeChuck, only ten times worse. I'm in no hurry to go back to being his little doormat."

"If you don't mind my asking.." Largo probably would, but anyway "..why did you sign up with LeChuck in the first place?"

Largo paused for a second, considering. Then: "You might as well sit down. This is going to take a while."

When they were both settled on the sand, he went on. "I was trying to get away from my dad--you know, Mr. "Hell at sea or on sand." No one liked him...but I don't think anyone knew he wasn't much better to his family than anyone else. I ran away from home as soon as I could get away, one day when he was out at sea pillaging. I think he was expecting it, 'cause he went after me. I stowed away on the nearest pirate ship I could find--of course, it turned out to be LeChuck's. I hid for three days before they found me."

"And....what then?" prompted Lemonhead.

"You don't wanna know." Largo swallowed hard. "This was all the crew, of course....in due time they told LeChuck about me."

"What did he do?"

"He..well, he rescued me. He dropped the men off at the nearest port and took a new crew--except me. I was his cabin boy. After a while, I started working my way up the ranks. It took years, but the day he made me his first mate was the best day of my life.

"And then, a long time later, he sailed to Melee Island and had a brief run-in with....Governor Elaine. And after that he was obsessed with her. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. We had a huge argument that turned into a fight, then we parted ways. Two days later, I learned that his ship had gone down and everyone was dead."

"So what did you do then?"

"I drifted around for a while, then I settled on Scabb Island. There's no law there, so I figured I could make some money. I didn't think about LeChuck too much for about a year, until this voodoo priest came by saying he knew a way to bring him back to life, if we could find some living piece of him. I kept my eyes out, but I didn't think we'd find anything."

"But you must have, or you wouldn't be here now."

"Yeah. To make a long story short, we managed to bring him back to life....as a zombie." Largo shivered. "And he was still obsessed, this time with Guybrush Threepwood. When LeChuck was obsessed with something, he was just like my dad used to be. I was afraid of him. But he wanted me to be there, so I stayed."

Lemonhead joined in. "Then they built that Carnival on Monkey Island, so all the cannibals moved to Blood Island."

"I wasn't there," Largo replied. "LeChuck left me in the Fortress--to see if I could rebuild it, he said, but I knew it was an exile. Anything to keep me out of the way. But then, a few months later, I got a frantic call for help from Monkey Island. LeChuck'd gotten himself in trouble." He shook his head, apparently at the foolishness of his former captain. "When I got there, it was already too late--Guybrush had trapped him under a whole mountain of ice. I don't know why I got everyone to held me dig him out, but I did.

"Once he got out, he sounded just like he used to--promised us that everything would be just like it used to be. Then he told us that he could give us more power than we ever wanted--and we believed him. So we got on his roller coaster, and he sent everyone though Big Whoop.." Largo shivered again "...and _then_ he asked me if I'd help him with his newest Secret Plan. I still might've, even after Big Whoop, but when I found out that what he wanted was to marry Elaine and kill Guybrush, I refused. "

"He can't have been happy with that."

"He wasn't. That was the last time I was ever in his favor--as soon as I said no, he told me that everyone who wasn't with him was against him and sealed me in a cave with a few of the other skeletons who didn't like his plans. If I'd needed to breathe or eat, I would have died down there."

"I....don't know what to say."

The other man, lost in the narrative, didn't seem to hear. "Eventually, the skeletons managed to dig us out, but it was weeks and weeks later. By the time we got out, LeChuck was really dead--Guybrush'd turned him into nothing but dust. If he'd let me out, maybe I could've helped him."

Or maybe he couldn't. "So what happened then?"

"I stayed here. There was nowhere else to go. I lived on this island for a year..a _year_...until I ran in with Horace and Big Whoop."

"And now you're here. What is it you were planning to do?"

"Oh...I almost forgot." He visibly snapped back to reality. "I need the Password."

Lemonhead hesitated. "You'd....better not mean what I think you mean."

Largo LaGrande didn't reply.

"Are you crazy? You saw what happened to the Governor."

"You don't think I don't want to go in there?"

"Er.....what did you say?" Lemonhead was confused.

"Elaine ruined my life, but she also saved it. Same with Guybrush. Same with that sister of his. I want to pay them back. I wouldn't have come back to this horrible island if I didn't."

When the cannibal hesitated, Largo lowered his tone even further. "So give me the password so I can get it over with!"

"Okay, okay. I'm not sure which one, but I think the correct password is 'Ab-Na-Sa-Ter.'"

"Ab-Na-Sa-Ter," Largo repeated softly. "You're sure this is right?"

"The only real option is 'Ab-Na-Sa-Lam,' and I think it means 'I challenge to you single combat to the death.'"

"Oh."

"You'll have to hurry, if you're going in. It's going to be dawn soon."

"Yeah..I'd better." Largo stood up, mumbled something that might have been 'Thanks,' and shuffled into the cave.

* * *

Twenty-five steps in. Right. He sidled nervously around the corner, wishing he'd brought a torch in with him. Too late to back out now.

The little monkey on his pillar, already described in some detail, looked up at him in a decidedly unfriendly manner. Largo, used to this kind of reception, simply bided his time.

Strange white characters appeared in the air. They hovered, then faded, replaced by a new set....which itself was replaced by an even longer string. The silence stretched out uncomfortably.

Largo waited.

Finally, the monkey spoke in grating, rusty tones, "Why aren't you answering?"

"Because you weren't saying anything." He hated having to state the obvious.

"Didn't you see the words in the air?"

_Ah_. "I.... can't read," Largo admitted.

"Well then, let me read it to you." The monkey's smug tone grated on Largo's nerves. "'The Monkey Spirit isn't seeing anyone else today. Please come back later.'"

"I can't come back later. I've got to see him tonight."

"Why?"

Largo had little patience for most people and none for this guy. "Ab-Na-Sa-Ter. That's why."

There was a long pause. "I see." The red glow narrowed, as though the monkey were looking him over. "Well, that does make the difference. What brings you here, Mr. LaGrande?"

Brave talk to the contrary, Largo had been dreading his next line since the moment he saw Elaine come flying out of the cave. "I want to h-h-h-heh-"

His throat closed up. The monkey stared at him, confused. "You want to what?"

"I want to h-h-elp." He forced the word out, sweating with effort. "And I need to speak to the Monkey Spirit."

"You want to....help," repeated the monkey in dry tones. "You. Largo LaGrande, LeChuck right-hand, want to help."

"Laugh if you want, just let me through." _Please_. _Don't make me try to say that again_.

"Do you realize how out of character you--"

"Damn it, just let me through!" He stalked a stiff-legged step closer to the monkey receptionist, fists closed. "You don't think I know I'm supposed to be the bad guy? You think I've gone and gotten myself....reformed? Well, I still don't answer to nobody, not my dad, not LeChuck, not even the Governor." _Not even_? _Why'd I say that_? "It's just...well...my turn, I guess."

The idol was silent even after Largo trailed off. The man leaned against one dark wall, out of words--he wasn't used to this much talking. But so far the monkey hadn't run him out, or spat fire at him, so maybe he was actually doing okay. One thing for sure, he could never have spoken like that to LeChuck... Or Dad...

_Maybe I should have, sometime_..

"The Monkey Spirit will hear your case," said the receptionist unexpectedly.

Largo blinked twice. "Why?" he asked before he could stop himself.

The monkey sounded slightly amused. "He said that he heard everything you said to the cannibal leader--and many things that you didn't reveal. You have a long and painful story, Mr. LaGrande. And because of that, the Spirit of the island will hear your request."

Largo sagged against the wall, numb with relief and actually shaking a little with reaction. He hadn't expected to actually succeed....

Two gigantic red eyes opened behind the tiny idol, then an enormous mouth opened, complete with teeth and a colossal stone tongue. "He says to come in."

"Oh no. I'm not the one he needs to deal with." Largo threw both hands up, palms out. "If he's willing to work with me, then he should be willing to work with the Governor."

The idol seemed to frown. "That's your request? You want the Spirit to meet with Governor Elaine again?"

"Yeah. Oh, and one other thing.." Largo smiled just a little.

"What is it?"

"When the Monkey Spirit agrees to do what the Governor asks, I want to be here when the Spirit does it. I want to give the word." _I want to be the one to destroy Big Whoop_.

"You seem certain that he'll agree. Stil, that seems harmless enough," agreed the idol.

"Oh, it is," assured Largo. "Trust me."

* * *

  
Griswold looked back out of the cave mouth at the waiting group arrayed on the beach, almost embarrassed by the sea of expectant stares. "He...he says he wants to speak to you, Governor." 

"What?" Elaine's eyebrows spoke volumes. "That's impossible! He threw me out of that cave yesterday saying 'Don't come back.'"

"He seems to have changed his mind, madam."

_"That is correct, Governor Elaine Threepwood_." Mouths dropped open all over the beach as everyone reacted to a strange new voice speaking in their heads. "_I am a spirit as old as the Caribbean--surely I am mature enough to know and admit when I am wrong_."

Elaine scrambled to get her own thoughts in order. "W-what prompted this change of heart?"

"_I am not free to reveal that at this time_. _However, you might get some idea if you ask the one you call Largo LaGrande_.

"_Oh, and close your mouth_. _You look like a stranded fish_."

Elaine clipped her teeth back together. Largo was in nowhere in sight, but she'd get the story out of him later. That was the _last _place sh expected to find help! 

"Well then, Mr. Monkey Spirit, we have some business to discuss. May I come in?"

"_Please do_. _I suspect we will have much to talk about_."

* * *

  
"This is what we negotiated," Elaine explained to the entire group around the fire that evening. "The Monkey Spirit agrees with us that Big Whoop is stealing magical energy, and that he must be prevented from stealing any more." 

There was the beginning of a cheer at that--it died without much result, but the mood around the campfire had lightened considerably.

"He says that he will cut off the flow of energy as soon as we request it--Largo LaGrande has asked to be the one to wait here and give the word, and given all that he's done, that seems more than reasonable." She gave a little nod to Largo, who returned it graciously enough. The green parrot, Polly, whistled for him from a low-lying branch.

"In the meantime, he's not going to intervene until we signal, so we don't tip-off Big Whoop to our plans. I'm leaving Largo here with my summoning stone, so Polly can reach him instantly. Anyone else who wants to stay here may do so."

"I'll stay," volunteered Lemonhead. Largo looked surprised but raised no objections.

"The rest of us are going to Dinky Island tomorrow morning to wait for the_ Sea Cucumber_. I'd suggest that you sleep well tonight--it may be a while before we get another chance."

Holly looked at her with uncertain eyes when she finally closed the meeting and sent everyone off to tents or _Seahorse_. Sensing that the girl had something on her mind, Elaine invited her into her tent for a last cup of tea.

"This is it, isn't it?" she began morosely. "After all this time doing nothing, tomorrow it's all going to happen."

"I know," Elaine returned sympathetically. "You wish you could pace it out a little."

"But my point is, tomorrow everything's going to change. You guys might come out all right, you might not. Maybe only some of you will."

"Very possibly so," she agreed grimly, remembering the prediction of sacrifice. At least two Threepwoods wouldn't survive tomorrow. Maybe more. How many non-Threepwoods? She interlaced her fingers over her rounding stomach, pondering. _Are we the two_? If she had to die, could her baby be saved? It occurred to her then that there might not be a way, and that truly frightened her.

"You're so brave," Holly sighed wistfully--and unexpectedly.

"If I'm brave, it's not because I want to be," responded Elaine honestly. "If it looked like there was any way....any way at all..to save my baby without having to go back down there, I'd take it. But I don't really have the choice to back out now. I've come this far--I can't stop on the eve of the attack." _Even though I might want to._ "All our work to get this far would be wasted."

Holly looked like she was about to say something, but the moment was broken by a call from outside. "Ship ahoy!"

"Who is she?" Elaine called back.

"It's the _Sea Cucumber_!" Nic's tone was unmistakably joyous.

She fled the tent, Holly on her heels, to the coastline. Polly darted out like a green arrow to meet the incoming ship, just now sailing into harbor with all her lanterns lit and sails up. Elaine had never seen a bolder sight than the once-decrepit pirate vessel with an ignoble name.

The _Cucumber_ dropped anchor, and crewmen scurried up and down her masts to furl and secure the sails. Without any warning at all, there was a sudden breeze of displaced air and a few small thuds--and then the Barbery Coast trio were standing on the sand next to her. Before she had time to do more than gape, Polly vanished--only to reappear a few seconds later with Wally, Horace, and a few of the sailors.

"H-how is she doing that?" Elaine stammered.

"It's a trick yer husband taught us," Haggis explained, while the Feed twins exchanged enthusiastic greetings.

"Right. This is how Elijah managed to convey the people of Blood Island over to where you are." Edward van Helgen was as elegant as ever, if looking a trifle worn around the edges.

Elaine pondered this for a second or two, then dismissed it--she could get the specifics later. "And where _is_ Guybrush?"

Haggis hung his head. "I'm sorry, Gov'ner. Last night he went out tae Blood Island wit' Murray and Elijah...and we haven't seen him since..."

"We waited for hours," Horace added. "We'd hoped he'd already be here, with you."

"Or on Dinky Island." The gravelly voice was Cutthroat Bill's.

Elaine stood absolutely still, her mind flashing through all the possible meanings. Guybrush went to Blood Island--the home of an active volcano--and didn't return. Was the prophecy that he was going to die there still valid? "I think you did the right thing," she said finally, sounding resigned even to herself. "I'll send Polly over to the island to see if she can find anyone. "

"No need," responded yet another voice. Murray himself was crossing the sand towards them, looking worn and tired. "I had Elijah bring me here--I hoped I could find you all together." He met her eyes sadly. "Elaine, I'm sorry, but there's bad news about Guybrush."

She drew a deep breath, then stiffened her spine and prepared to hear the worst. "How bad?"

"We were attacked on Blood Island," he began, "by a spirit-woman who somehow...controlled the volcano. She froze an entire river of lava-it was like nothing I'd ever seen before." He shook his head, incredulous wonder evident in his tone of voice. "We couldn't finish the spell-the entire caldera was nothing but solid rock when she was done. And then, somehow, she managed to land Guybrush right in the middle of it...and then she started up the volcano again."

Elaine closed her eyes. Someone put a hand on her shoulder as Murray continued. "He was still okay, just trapped--she melted all the rock around him but he still had some land to stand on. I heard him arguing with the spirit--she kept calling him 'Dad,' mocking him. I think she must have been your daughter.."

"And after that--?"

"He threw that blue stone into the lava--I think he was trying to finish the spell--and then the woman flew after him. For a second, I thought they were fighting, but then they both fell into the lava and vanished..." He sighed. "I didn't see either of them come back up. I'm so sorry, Elaine."

Something that tasted of salt touched the corner of her mouth before Elaine realized she was crying. "I'm sure you did all you could.." she mumbled automatically, the words a mere formality. She could feel the sympathy of the assembled group, but it was smothering, cloying--

"Wait a second." Horace unexpectedly rejoined the conversation, trailed by the unpredictable Largo. "You're saying it looks like Odia just...killed him?"

Murray scowled at what seemed to be a very crass intrusion. "Yes. Where are you going with this?"

"Nowhere. It's just that that sounds...wrong...to me. It's not Big Whoop's style to just...kill his worst enemies."

"Yeah. He does it for the drama, half the time," confirmed Largo. "I don't think he'd kill Guybrush if he couldn't watch."

That _did_ have a certain ring of truth to it. Elaine wiped her eyes with a borrowed handkerchief and nodded slowly. "But there's no way he could have survived a fall into molten lava."

Horace looked skyward, scanning his memory. "This is the Blood Island volcano, right?" At Murray's nod, he went on. "Big Whoop had spies in there, those Little Whoops I told you about. I think if he fell into a patch of those, it wouldn't be the same as real lava. It wouldn't kill him."

"Especially if Odia was protecting him at the same time." Murray was still frowning, but thoughtfully.

"And then he could go right to Monkey Island.....under the ocean." Elaine bit her lip. "Could he survive that?"

"Not sure. Still, better chances there than going right into the lava," Largo replied with deceptive casualness.

"Big Whoop'll want him alive," said Horace sadly. "It might have been better if he'd just died, Governor."

"Big Whoop's love of drama is going to be his undoing," Elaine replied, and her tone was steel. "We can still cut off his power, and we could still finish the resurrection spell, with a little help. Elijah," she called, and the red parrot sprang to her wrist. "Can you get Murray back to Blood Island?" At his affirmative cheep, she nodded grimly. "I need to send a message to the Voodoo Priestess--I'll have her meet you at the crater, Murray." Elaine was every inch the governor, now. "We're still going in tomorrow, all of us. And we're not coming out until that monster is settled for good."

Big Whoop had made a huge mistake in threatening Elaine's family, but he had made a fatal one when he kidnaped her husband.

* * *

  
Chariset watched tensely as the priestess scanned the note a third time. "This is bad," she finally pronounced, throwing it at the Necromancer, who read it aloud, though quietly enough that any observer would think it was unintentional. Chariset knew better--the bleak message he murmured was meant for her as well.. Guybrush was missing, presumably a prisoner of Big Whoop--or possibly dead. Elaine thought not, and all three of them agreed with her.

_That would only have been the second-worst_, Chariset thought darkly. _He'll have Guybrush killed eventually, just so he can see my reaction when I meet his spirit in the land of the dead_. _And then he'll know I'm gone_.

_Of course, by then, it may well be too late for any of us, priestess, Odia, Agnus, or me_..

"Write another note," said the Necromancer finally, addressing her as well as the priestess. Tell Murray that we're on our way and will be there within the hour. Also tell him--" the old wizard gave Chariset a significant nod "--that we're bringing help."

Circumstances notwithstanding, her heart gave a tiny, illogical leap. At least she would see Murray again. But almost as soon as her spirits soared, they fell again--this was no pleasure trip, and she would remain a prisoner of the Voodoo Lady, able to help only when the woman remembered to ask her.

_There's no other choice_, she thought grimly. _I can't stay here, and the Voodoo Lady won't release me._ _I need to be free to help my family. Voodoo magic or no, I've got to escape from her_.

She had pared the Amulet's magic down to a pitiful amount, but the remnants of that once-proud talisman still hung around her neck, and its power might still be enough to manage once last trick. If she could conceal her intentions long enough..


	7. Threads Gather

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter Six: Threads Gather

  


* * *

Murray sat on the edge of the crater at dawn, staring into the bubbling depths--not thinking anything in particular, just letting his thoughts wander. Polly, sitting on a low branch nearby, had her head under a wing as she busily groomed her feathers, pausing from time to time to whistle at him forlornly. After one especially entreating chirrup, he coaxed her onto one wrist and stroked her back feathers with a repetitive, mechanical motion, still musing. She, realizing that the hand would not adjust for her, simply adjusted herself for the hand, moving back and forth under his fingers the way a cat would. He had to admit that she was an intelligent bird.

He tickled her under her wings, then rubbed a knuckle against her ear-spot, while she leaned into his fingers and seemed to sigh. When he paused, she blinked her bright eyes at him and chirruped softly until he resumed the caress.

"I wish I had half your freedom," he murmured. She nibbled on his hand, very gently.

_A year we've known each other_...._just a year_, he thought--and not about Polly. _Is that really long enough to justify how I feel about her_? _I mean_..._who wouldn't, she's amazing_._ She's beautiful, she's smart, she's funny_..._she's so unswervingly determined_..._and stubborn enough to put up with_ _me_..._and I'm stubborn enough to put up with her_...._and I just don't think I deserve someone like that, but_....

"I think she loves me anyway," he said, very softly. Polly sidled closer and brushed her head-feathers very, very gently against his chin. She seemed to be waiting for something.

"And I think I love her," he confessed to the green parrot, even more quietly. "I do love her. I just wish there was some way to--hey! Where are you going?"

Polly had launched herself into flight from his arm and was circling a patch of land. "Pretty! Come see pretty!"

Murray levered himself off the ground and made his way over--Polly had landed and was staring intently at something on the ground. "Dumb bird....you're worse than a crow..." he was muttering--until he saw what had captured the parrot's attention.

Something glittered in the dust. He brushed sand and ash away, revealing a series of tiny geometric shapes which flashed as they caught the light. A faceted stone. Hardly daring to hope, he carefully loosened the earth around it, until he was holding the entire ring between his thumb and forefinger.

"The pretty," repeated Polly, sounding self-satisfied.

It was more than pretty--it was a tiny gold band with a large, colorless stone. Was it--? No, surely not. That would be just too strange. No one loses diamond rings next to volcanoes, he reminded himself. This had to be glass, or some cheap gemstone. Still.....

He polished the gem carefully on his shirttail, and it reflected the first few rays of sunlight in a way that made his breath catch. "I know this isn't real," he told Polly. "And I know it has to be a real diamond. But.....do you think she'd like it anyway, just as a gift?" he finished in a rush, strangely anxious for the approval of a female in the matter.

"_Bwaaaaaaak_," responded the parrot definitely. After all, what woman wouldn't want a pretty?

He tucked the ring into his shirt pocket. "If I mean to give this to her, I have to see her again," he told Polly. "Right?"

"_Bwaaack_."

"Right. So....when do you suppose that voodoo priestess is going to show up?"

"Which priestess would that be?"

"You know, the Voo--" Murray started to answer automatically, then stopped. A woman's voice chuckled very softly behind him, and he knew he'd been had. "The Voodoo Lady, I presume?" he asked without looking back.

"Not quite," answered an old, familiar voice, much amused.

"Chariset??" He was on his feet facing her in two seconds, sending dust and ash spraying in all directions. The ghostly image of his Captain, best friend, and significant other for two novels hovered in the warm air in a flowing set of white robes--a spectral sight whose effect was entirely ruined by the fact that she was grinning like a fool.

He hadn't thought they'd be able to touch, but she solidified her hand and ran gentle fingertips down his jawline, sending a shiver through both of them.

"I've missed you," he finally managed.

Her response remained non-verbal, but suddenly words seemed entirely frivolous and unnecessary.

"Ah, Murray," she said finally, in the slow tones of someone who is trying to prolong the moment. "I can't stay long, and there's a lot I can't tell you. But I need to warn you about this resurrection spell. It's touchy. One wrong word, one wrong ingredient, and this volcano'll blow up in your face."

"It's okay...I'm not doing it by myself. The voodoo priestess from Plunder Island is coming to help."

Even though Chari's face was hard to make out in the uncertain red light of the rising sun, he could see her expression darken. "Be careful, Murray. Big Whoop is getting better and better at impersonating other people--don't be fooled. He could send you anyone in disguise, and you might not realize it until it was too late."

"How will I know what's supposed to be in this spell?" He hadn't realized that the priestess might not be entirely to be trusted.

"What's in there now?"

"This bag of voodoo herbs and seasonings...and the other blue gem from Myth Island."

She looked nervous. "Of course, I don't know that the bag actually made it in...." he added.

"Let's hope it didn't. There's no telling what might have been in there."

Together, they peered over the crater into the lava below. "Ah, there it is," she said, sounding relieved.

He squinted. Sure enough, at the very edge of the molten rock a dark brown shape was visible.

"We're lucky it didn't fall in," she said. "Hold still--I'll go get it."

She slipped down the side of the crater, seized the bag in her spirit-hands, and made her way back up the wall with obvious difficulty. He took the small pouch from her as soon as he was within reach."

"Thanks. It's hard to carry physical objects around."

He opened the bag and peered inside, holding his breath against the strong and unusual odor of voodoo. "Anything in here that shouldn't be?" he asked, drawing out ingredients one at a time. They all appeared to be plant samples.

She examined them carefully. "Hmm....these all look safe enough." She sorted the whole bag, apparently finding nothing. "Huh. Maybe I've misjudged the old witch."

He looked up at her sharply. "Chari, that doesn't sound like you," he started to say, but stopped himself. "You say Big Whoop could send imposters at me?" he asked instead.

"I'm sure he will," she said soberly.

_Hmmmm_. "Is anything missing from this spell?"

"Nothing's wrong. But yes, you're missing the last ingredient. Is the Necromancer coming, too?" At his nod, she added, "When he gets here, he'll have to add it himself."

"What is this last ingredient?" Murray'd never heard of any other elements for the spell than just the herbs and the gem.

"His staff of office."

"Why?"

Chariset looked slightly uncomfortable. "Resurrection spells _are_ pretty close to black magic, Murray. The wizard didn't want to tell Guybrush, but this spell requires a sacrifice. A human spirit." When he looked up at her, aghast, she lowered her eyes. "I know..I know. I wish there were some other way to break the crystals, but there just isn't."

"And....the real Necromancer will know that," Murray prompted.

She nodded bleakly. "He'll be ready for the sacrifice. That's the reason for the staff--he should already have a spirit contained in the gemstone that crowns it."

He felt strangely sick inside. "I don't like this, Chari."

"You don't have to like it," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't. But it still has to be done."

"And what if he refuses to throw the wand in?" _Does that automatically make him false_?

"Nothing'll explode, if that's what you mean. But this spell requires a certain order--you're lucky Guybrush threw the stone in first. The next item you need is the staff, then the herbs. Throw the bag in first, and you might as well be tossing pieces of eight down there."

"And sacrificing a human being for nothing." He felt strangely skeptical. "How do you know all this?"

"I told you, I can't tell you everything," she grinned as mischievously as though she had not just ordered the execution of a living soul.

"Then you'd better go. If they're imposters, you don't want them to catch you here."

"Right." She drew him closer with some effort. "Murray, I'm doing this for us. I once told the Voodoo Lady that I'd do any dark magic to save Guybrush....and I'll still do anything for my family." She met his eyes with sad love and resignation mixed. "And for you, I'd make a bargain with Big Whoop himself."

The ring burned heavy in his breast pocket as she vanished, leaving him alone and confused. Polly swooped back to his shoulder, shivering.

"Was Chari?" she chirped.

Murray sighed. "To be honest, I d--"

A sudden rush of air blew past them both, startling him. He looked down the mountain just in time to see the wizard, the Necromancer, in full ceremonial garb, settling down onto the ground. In his dark purple and orange clothing, he looked like a shadow beside the Voodoo Priestess in her white robes. Murray had never actually seen the famous Necromancer before--a tall man with a stance that suggested great age, though his face could have been that of a 30-year-old man.

Except for the eyes. Both of them had eyes that were far older than their faces. _It's the evidence of the price they pay for magic, not the magic themselves, which gives them authority_, he realized, watching them struggle up to where he stood, on the very summit of Mt. Acidophilus.

He was almost ashamed of how relieved he was that they were here. Magic was so very over his head--he wanted only to be able to turn this situation over to someone who would be able to deal with it...

_Remember Chariset_, he reminded himself, trying not to relax and stop thinking. _If what's she's told you is right, then one of them will be lying to you_...

_They could be out to kill you_.

_But what if **she** was_?

Could he trust them? Should he just assume that they would know how to perform a simple spell better than he would?

Or should he assume that they would lie and trust Chari?

_Grab the wand_. _Throw it in._ _What could it hurt_?

Polly whistled her anxiety as he marshaled all his will to keep from pacing.

_Should he?_

_Shouldn't he?_

He had a headache of respectable proportions by the time they reached him.

"Murray!" greeted the Necromancer, his cheerfulness clashing with Murray's own tangled thoughts. The gnarled, spiraling branch he carried as his walking stick came within easy reach. _Do it!_ _This could be your last chance_! "So good to finally meet the man our Chari's so in love with."

Murray's hand halted in mid-reach. _So_...._your what_? A slow realization began to coalesce, even as his brain fumbled for some words to put together into an answer.

The priestess didn't give him a chance to respond. "Come out, Spirit."

The crystal on the Necromancer's staff glowed briefly, and a misty form appeared next to him, facing Murray. White clothing...dark hair....face coming into focus last of all.

His knees folded, dropping him on the gritty volcanic soil.

...._oh, dear God_...

"Murray? Whatever is the matter?"

Chariset regarded him without a word, clearly torn between joy and concern. He took her outstretched hand and buried his face in it, shaking as he realized what he'd been about to do. _I came so close to making the worst mistake of my life_..

"You may speak freely, Spirit."

Chariset found her voice at last. "Murray....I...I've missed--....are you all right?"

"Chari...there's something I need to tell you." He pulled her down beside him, something he could never have done if she hadn't cooperated. "Just in case I do lose you before this is all over.."

"Murray--"

"Chariset, I still can't trust myself. I almost killed you, just now. If it happened once, it could happen again." Impulsively, he fumbled the ring out of his pocket. "Will you accept this?" The grimy thing looked pathetic and sad next to her delicate spirit-hand. "I know it doesn't look like much, and you really deserve more, but...."

"I love you, too, Murray." She must have read his mind again, because she chuckled and added, "I'm a ghost, remember? You can't hide anything from me."

"I just couldn't....let you go again, without knowing how I felt."

She responded in a non-verbal but extremely informative manner. It was a long discourse...more of a dialogue, really... the details of which are best left private.

They switched the discussion back to words only with great reluctance. "I'd hoped, even before we ran in with Big Whoop, but I didn't know..." She took the ring from him, holding it on her palm as though it were a butterfly--a diamond-studded platinum butterfly--which might wing away at any moment. "Murray, this ring is absolutely beautiful. I'd be proud to wear it for you." She brushed something away from her eye with the other hand. "Absolutely beautiful. I couldn't have wanted a nicer gift."

He felt light-headed. Maybe it was the heat. "And so you should have it, Chari."

"_We_ should have it." She was looking a little insubstantial, herself. "I know what this is."

He slowly descended from the clouds, baffled. "Well...I don't. Maybe you should tell me."   
I'll demonstrate." She slipped the ring onto her left hand. "_This_ is where it belongs. And when you ask me to marry you, this is where you need to put it."

"Left hand....got it."

"I wouldn't have to do this," she began teasingly, "but the author's been pathetically slow about putting us back into the same room."

"Wait...I'm sure I've heard this somewhere before.."

"And I'm here to fix that, you demonic thing you."

Murray could only grin and shake his head. "I love a woman who knows what she wants.."

"Oh, I do." She gazed longingly into the rising sun, then transferred the focus to him with no loss of emotion. "I do."

The priestess cleared her throat, making both of them jump guiltily and Chariset turn pink. Murray had forgotten the two were even there. "If you lovebirds are finished, we have some work to do."

* * *

Guybrush climbed slowly out of the blackness with his mind's fingernails, one painful inch at a time. He finally achieved a sort of 'ledge' of semi-consciousness and lay there, panting, strange projections from the conscious world tearing down from time to time to where he was, intruding on his tiny gray world. The strange sounds were voices, he eventually realized--they broke upon him like waves. He could perceive them but not understand their meaning...

"I'm getting a little concerned, Odia. He's no good to us dead."

"He's not dead, Daddy. Trust me, I'd know. He's just fainted from the heat."

A masculine _hmph_ followed by a girlish giggle. "Ah, you're just bored."

His unpredictable, uncooperative fingers twitched against real rock, real grit, making the tiniest point of contact and reviving a dull ache from somewhere in his shoulder. That sensation, unpleasant though it was, was enough to push his consciousness up out of the blackness and into the real world.

"See? He's already coming out of it."

Bone hands seized his shoulders, dragging him upright. His eyelids were lead--he attempted getting them open under their own power for a few seconds, then gave up the unequal struggle. A small, cold hand grasped his chin and physically lifted his skull, only to let it fall heavily again against his chest. He made a mighty effort and opened his eyes.

Feet. Hmm. His eyelids dropped shut again, now that he was no longer concentrating on them, but he managed to get his head up again. His eyes, when he pried them open once more, fixed on a bright red-orange creature, roughly human-shaped.

Big Whoop. Guybrush remembered where he was now, his mind snapping from groggy to merely numb. His hands had been left free when they were dangling uselessly, but now he felt his wrists pulled back and cuffed with strange irons that seemed somehow..warm and flickering. A glance back confirmed his suspicions--Big Whoop was taking no chances. He was securing his prisoner with chains of fire.

Guybrush suffered the indignity of having a similar collar snapped around his throat, mainly because he had no other choice. Worse still, the soldiers just left him there, standing on his own uncertain feet, facing Big Whoop and the spirit who was Odia._ He can't go anywhere_, was the unspoken assumption.

Big Whoop said nothing and neither did Guybrush. The monster looked at him impassively--the pirate kept his expression carefully blank, trying to look around without being too obvious about it.

The throne room was much as he remembered it, with new skeleton-lanterns to replace the ones Chariset had liberated. He presumed the doorway was still behind him, most likely guarded fairly heavily, and that the rock walls were honeycombed with hidden doors and sliding panels. However, the pool of lava now stood alone in magnificent isolation--no longer did a stream of lava bisect the room. The magma lake must run down to the molten underside of the earth itself....and he must have been pulled from it when Odia brought him here. The actual journey, mercifully, was almost a complete blank.

He pulled the dusty remainder of his pirate coat together and met the gaze of his molten enemy with all the dignity he could muster, pretending he didn't care what happened. It was a lie, of course--with Odia at his side, the lava-beast could easily have forced Guybrush to do anything he wanted. The monster had to know that Guybrush would rather be killed himself than allow his daughter to be harmed, and he clearly didn't care for her beyond her usefulness. But as for Odia, she was a card he could play only once, and Big Whoop knew that....he was probably just waiting for the right moment.

Guybrush also waited, trying to keep any trace of inquisitiveness out of his expression. He mustn't ask this monster for anything. There could be no dependence, no supplication....his life depended on not caring for this creature in the slightest. Apathy was his only real weapon at this point.

Finally, Big Whoop broke the silence. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here.."

"No, not really."

Another silence.

"You frustrate me," the monster finally growled.

He took the offensive. "Admit it. You've run out of horrible things to do to me."

"You think so, do you?" He glanced at Odia, a signal that the spirit herself missed. "You give me implicit permission to do anything to you--what about those you care about? Can you decide for them as well?"

"_Most_ of them can decide for themselves," Guybrush responded in the same vein. "So you can kill me....am I supposed to be afraid of you? So you'd hurt my own daughter to hurt me...why do you keep saying that like I should...respect you because you can do that?" Odia's eyes flashed darkly, but she remained still. "I know you want something from me--I don't know what, but I know you want it."

The chains suddenly flared with heat, just short of scorching. "If I hadn't promised to leave you alive, I'd kill you now," promised Big Whoop, while Guybrush clenched his jaw in pain. "All I want from you is your skeleton for a bedside lamp. But for now, I have another job for you."

The fire cooled. "Big Whoop, you were supposed to serve my family," he gritted out, wishing he could touch the back of his neck to look for blisters.

"Which I did, until you betrayed me."

"Well then, I un-betray you." He drew himself up as boldly as he could, under the circumstances. "I dismiss you, Spirit. Go serve someone else."

"Ha! If you'd said that four months ago, it might have worked. But I serve the last of the Threepwoods....as her Daddy. And she'll never send me away."

Guybrush bit the inside of his lip. Big Whoop was right....Odia would never dismiss him unless she no longer loved him. Which meant that the monster had even more reason not to play his trump card until he was sure it would work.

"You, however, shall serve me. As bait." Big Whoop wiggled a finger, and Guybrush felt himself hauled forward by the infuriating collar.

"Take off your boots," the creature commanded.

"With my hands tied? Don't be ridiculous."

Big Whoop growled. The cuffs loosened themselves and fell to the floor. "Take your coat off while you're at it."

When Guybrush hesitated, unsure about his motives, the collar flared again, warningly. "Do you think you really have any choice? Take your boots off!"

"All right, Big Whoop. You win--for now.." He pried his footwear loose, then shed his familiar blue coat with more reluctance. Two skeletons took coat and boots and vanished, leaving him standing in his stocking feet

"What was all that about?" _A voodoo doll_?

"Nothing much. Just some...clues, you might say." He smirked. "Besides, you're not going to get very far running around here with no shoes on."

"While you lure everyone in here with the blood-stained remnants of my coat. How very original..."

Big Whoop knew he still had the upper hand. "It'll work, and you know that. That is, if anyone's left to plan a rescue."

Guybrush ignored that. "And in the meantime..?"

"Oh, I consider myself a gracious host. As far as I'm concerned, you can go anywhere you like inside these caverns. I'm sure you'll behave and stay inside."

"You seem very certain of that."

"Why shouldn't I? Home court advantage, you might say." He smirked again, while Guybrush struggled to conceal his angry frustration. It'd only encourage this bully. "Odia, my dearest...would you give our guest a tour of the grounds?"

She sprang up with all the malicious glee of which a teenager was capable. "I'd love to, _Daddy_." She snapped her fingers, hauling Guybrush along like a reluctant dog behind her. He was really starting to hate this collar.

"Delightful girl, isn't she?" Big Whoop called after them, just before Odia dragged him almost bodily though a panel and into a room whose floor was crystalline spikes. "Must take after her father."

* * *

Deeper in the Caribbean than Mêlée but not so deep as Monkey, Dinky Island....

Elaine was waiting rather impatiently in camp for some news from Murray when someone knocked timidly on a tentpole. "Yes?"

"It's Horace. Can I come in?"

"Sure." The little man with his strawberry blond curls nudged the tent flap aside and stood rather uncomfortably in the entrance, looking for a place to sit.

She indicated a bench across from where she sat, Guybrush's singed coat at her feet, unsuccessfully trying to write a last entry for her journal. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. Everyone's told me how efficient you are with details--I was wondering if you'd like to come work at the fort when all this is over."

Deadeyes looked surprised. "I'd be glad to help, Governor, if you still want me. I do need a job.."

She smiled, glad to be able to do something useful and productive with so little effort. "Then consider yourself hired. When we get back to Plunder, we can discuss pay."

"Thank you, Governor. Now, maybe I can do something for you."

"What's on your mind?"

"I have an idea, but I don't want to say too much about it unless I'm pretty sure it'll work. No sense getting everyone's hopes up."

"Hmm..mysterious."

He chuckled self-consciously. "Well, yeah, maybe. I need you to describe Big Whoop's lair for me."

_That_ was a non-sequitur. "I thought you said you didn't want to go down there." She thought for a second. "Besides, you saw about as much of it as I did."

"I don't, and you're right. But I never left the main room, while he had you out all over the place, taking 'walks.'"

"Exercise time....how could I forget?" Not that she was really surprised she had. "Do you need me to try to describe everything, or is there one room in particular?"

"Just one room....if he ever let you go in there. The room he's using for his little...dungeon."

"Ahh....where he's keeping my family." He nodded, looking relieved that she understood. "He made sure that I saw it, sometimes more than once a day--just getting his point across."

Horace nodded sympathetically. "He was pretty good at that."

"Too good." She shivered. "That's the room you need a description of?"

"Right."

"Okay...." She paused to call up the image in her mind's eye. "Well, for one, it's huge. It's easily the biggest cavern under the mountain, and it has its own sort of light....a pale, pale blue light, the kind that glowing fungus gives off. Whenever I was in there, I got the sense I was somewhere underwater.

"There's really no floor...it's all black gravel with large gray rocks sticking up here and there. But room is filled with large crystal..coffins, I suppose, there's really no other word for them. They're clear, with a bluish tint, and from the door all you can see is rank after rank of these crystal peaks, stretching all the way back to the wall. They don't look like they're on display--it looks more like a storage room."

Horace sketched some lines on a small pad of paper. "Can you see any of their faces?"

"Oh yeah. The crystals are clear enough you can see right in." She borrowed his little sketch, changed a line here and there, and then drew in the shape of one of the ice-coffins, placing it in the foreground of the drawing. "Most of the crystals are _here_," she indicated on his drawing. "But for some reason, Chariset is right _here_. He set her block apart."

Horace took his drawing and pencil back. "Thanks. I think I've got a good enough idea now."

"Glad I could help." Elaine was still stymied. "Hope your idea works."

"Me too." He made a hurried goodbye and vanished, leaving her puzzled but faintly amused. _First Largo, now Horace. Is Big Whoop going to step in, next_? she pondered, resuming work on her journal.

* * *

"So there never was a third ingredient?" Murray asked for what seemed like the tenth time.

"No. In fact, the spell is complete now. All you need to do is invoke it." The priestess and Necromancer were seated on a pair of convenient rocks, making no attempt to hide the fact that they were holding hands. Chariset hovered beside him, bound to silence once more but listening raptly. There was another point she wished they would get back to..

"And how do I do that?"

The Necromancer tossed him the notorious bag of voodoo herbs and seasonings. "Drop that in."

"That's it? After all the mystery and the warnings, all I would have had to do is throw this in to resurrect everyone?"

"Not resurrect. The spirits will still have to return to their bodies. But the crystals will be shattered--and by then, Big Whoop's power should be broken."

Chariset crossed her fingers. Murray shook his head, "I can't believe it's so simple. To hear that spirit talk, you'd think I was about to destroy half the island."

_Spirit_? The priestess saw her expression and asked the question for her. "There was a spirit here who tried to get you to kill Chariset, you said."

"It was the strangest thing. She looked just like Chari...sounded the same, everything. She even warned me that Big Whoop would send imposters my way, trying to fool me."

_An_....._imposter_.... She froze in place while the others chatted on.

This was it. This could be the moment they'd been hoping for.

She had to get confirmation. Picking up a quill pen with effort, she scratched out words on a light-colored rock. _Are you certain it was supposed to be me?_

Murray looked at her as though she'd grown horns. "Of course it was you. She didn't actually name herself 'Chariset,' but she was obviously trying to make me think she was."

_You mean like an imposter?_ she persisted.

"Yes. Someone pretending to be you to get the real you killed."

She kissed him impulsively, overwhelmed with excited, relieved joy. _He reneged! Big Whoop broke his word! We're free!_

The priestess met her eyes. "Spirit, what exactly is going on here?"

Chariset suddenly realized how precarious her situation was. Two seconds from now, the woman would realize that she was planning something against Big Whoop and would seize her back, probably with even stronger spells than before. Two seconds from now, her chance to escape would be lost....and then all would be lost. She had to get to her family with this information, and she had to do it now. Even tomorrow would be too late.

She crossed her fingers again, and invoked the power of the Necromancer's Amulet.

* * *

It was one of those impossibly slow moments when everything happens at once. Murray jerked back, surprised, as Chari suddenly blazed with blue flame, brighter than he'd ever seen before. The Necromancer was staring, astonished, and the priestess seemed to be about to say something--Chari herself gave his hand one quick squeeze and launched herself into the air, a miniature blue sun. The next instant, his head snapped around as a volley of sharp cracks rang out--the Necromancer's crystal, the keystone of his wand, trembled as a pattern of fissures erupted through it. It glowed erratically, then shattered, spraying tiny crystal shards everywhere. He threw his arms over his face, shielding his eyes from that barrage of tiny, stinging needles.

It was over in half a second--but even that tiny amount of time had been too long. Chari was gone.

"I was afraid of that," said the priestess at length.

"What on earth happened? Where did she go?" Murray felt like he had never been anything but confused.

"She has gone back to Big Whoop," replied the Necromancer, contemplating a wand whose keystone was a now jagged, chewed-off crystal stub.

"But why? Wasn't she safe here?"

"Safe enough....but not free." He still didn't have a clue what she was talking about. "It's a long story."

Elijah appeared in the air, announcing his presence with a thin whistle. A note fluttered down, which Murray automatically caught. "It's a reply from Elaine."   


_Couldn't be happier to hear it. We attack tomorrow--we'll hit the monster with both spells at once, if we can. I think we can, since we've got the parrots. Wait there by the crater--I'll send you some food this evening, so you shouldn't need to go anywhere. When you complete your spell, you can stay there or join us, either way. Dinky is still the rendevous._

_Tomorrow we do it. Be prepared._

_-Elaine_

_P.S. Glad to hear about your fake-Chari. Be sure to tell her I misjudged her, will you?_   


He chuckled ironically. "You first."

"What does it say?"

He met the priestess' brown gaze. "We're attacking tomorrow. Will you stay here or go help?"

"We're going. Right now, in fact."

"What will you do there?" It seemed to Murray that not even voodoo would be of much use against Big Whoop, if they failed to rob him of his power.

It was the Necromancer who answered. "The same thing you will. We'll do what we can."

He put his arm around the Voodoo Lady, called Elijah to his other elbow, and all three vanished.

Murray sat down again, staring off into space. Tomorrow.... Tomorrow he would have his answers. Tomorrow either Big Whoop or everyone he cared about would be dead and gone. He twisted his fingers uncertainly.

He wished tomorrow were already over...or that it would never come.

Cowards die many times before their deaths? Maybe so, but so do those who love. He died every time he thought he might lose her.

It was crazy, it was maudlin, it was sappy. If anyone else had said that to him, he would have been utterly disgusted. Maybe he still was. It was what he'd never thought he'd be... But it was truth. He was in love, and all he wanted was to be with the one he loved. Was their relationship going to struggle along this far, only to flicker out here?

Tomorrow..


	8. Elaine Stands her Ground

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter 7: Elaine Stands her Ground

* * *

Early morning, deep in the Caribbean....

Odia hovered in the crystal room, keeping one eye on Big Whoop's 'guest,' now dozing with head and one shoulder against the crystal that contained his sister. It must have been a horribly uncomfortable position to sleep in for someone who actually had joints, she reflected--not that she cared how he felt, which she didn't. He deserved it. Even if he'd been someone else's father and not her own, anyone who ran away and left his wife and child in danger deserved what he got. _This is justice_, she reminded herself. _Justice_.

The truth was, he had her utterly confused. She had thoroughly enjoyed her revenge yesterday and most of the night, dragging him through the most painful caverns in the underground chambers of Monkey Island. She knew them all and had made a special effort to visit the ones with smouldering-hot floors, the ones coated in slime, the ones with sharp, rocky, and jagged projections, dragging him after. She was amazed he still had feet. Follow the trail of bloody footprints and you would find them here, their last stop. Might as well add emotional pain to physical pain.

Yes, she'd had her revenge and found it sweet. What bothered her was that, even after she'd put him through the worst, he refused to give up his statement that he was forced to leave without her. She found that a little unsettling. Screaming and cursing she could deal with--that would only confirm his guilt in her eyes. But the longer he remained silent, the more her conviction eroded away.

Weakness. That must be it. _He doesn't admit it because he's afraid of Daddy and too guilty to admit it to me_. Satisfied that she could once again judge the man who was her father as nothing but a villain and a coward, she relaxed, secure in her place as the one on the side of the right. Sides were very important in her world. Right and wrong were clearly defined, most of the time. _Curse you for clouding the issue_, she thought at Guybrush. _Things were simple until you came along_.

"Odia." The voice came from nowhere, or possibly the walls. It didn't matter. She knew who it was, and she knew no one else could hear it.

"Daddy?"

"Odia my love, bring the prisoner back to my throne room. It looks like enough people survived to put together a rescue party after all."

"Okay, Daddy." Hauling the sleep-deprived man around would surely be entertaining.

Big Whoop caught the gist of her thoughts. "Have fun last night?" The tone was warm and personal, as though this were a joke they shared.

"Oh, yes. But....he still doesn't admit that he's wrong."

"He probably never will. Don't worry about that, Odia. By tomorrow, everything will be put back to where it should be."

"And justice will be served."

"Guilt is guilt, acknowledged or not."

"That's what you always taught me, Daddy."

She sensed his approval. "I taught you well, dear one. Better hurry now...we've got company coming in less than an hour."

She signed off the conversation and hauled Guybrush to his feet. He woke up in mid-step, staggered, winced as his raw-edged and still-bleeding soles came into contact with the gravel. "Odia, why are you doing this to me?" he groaned, pressing a hand to his temple.

Odia just laughed, skipping along playfully ahead of him. "Your girlfriend's here to see you," she taunted.

"Elaine? Here?" He minced along, placing each foot as carefully as he could.

"Not yet. But she will be." She maliciously yanked on the invisible leash, choosing a moment when he was off-balance and nearly pitching him onto his nose. "Hurry up!"

She didn't turn around, and he was too busy trying to save himself from yet another bad fall to notice a tiny flash of light as something darted to the crystal he had just vacated. The new arrival looked at the traces of blood on the gravel, snarled silently, and vanished inside.

* * *

  
The spirits gaped at her or darted out of her way as she barreled through, flying faster than she'd ever dared when she first arrived. Behind her, the Gazing Pool had flooded its banks and water streamed in all directions from the heart of the forest, collecting in pockets wherever there was a low point. One small and roundish hollow was already filling at a fair rate, becoming a much larger version of the original. Chariset, diving for the main square at full speed, didn't spare any energy for a glance behind.

"Chari, la!" A hand arrested her flight with a gentle swat--at the end of that little maneuver, she wound up sitting dizzily on a large palm, looking up into the owner's giant face. He nearly crushed her flat against his chest in an Agnus-sized bear hug the next instant. "You're free!"

"We're all free." Chariset let the embrace linger a moment, then slipped out through his fingers. "Come with me, Agnus." She couldn't have kept the joy out of her tone if she'd tried, and she didn't. "I've got the most wonderful news for you."

They made their way to the center of the spirit world together, not much slower at his walking pace than she had been in full flight. The Threepwood spirits, driven by a vague, instinctual sense that something pivotal was approaching, trickled into in the central square in groups of two or three, waiting for news. Agnus seated himself cross-legged in front of them, and she stood on top of his head, looking out over the gathering crowd. She could feel their tenseness, their curiosity, and she deliberately teased them with her silence, stretching the moment out as long as she could. She would probably never get to do anything like this again.

Her parents finally pushed their way forward. "What do you think you're doing, Catherine?" Dad demanded at her from the ground.

"You're under house arrest until Big Whoop releases you," added her mother. "You're going to make it worse for the rest of us if you stay out!"

That inspired a rising chorus of angry voices. "Yeah, just like last time!" "Get back inside, lawbreaker!" "Haven't you done enough?"

Chariset stood where she was, neither answering them nor backing down, feeling for the right moment to begin. Agnus likewise held his ground, refusing to add his voice to the dissenters--his posture made it obvious that he clearly supported her. Together, they waited.

The tumult went on for some time, but her own parents, her main opponents, had nothing more to say--and without their encouragement the anger of the rest of her family eventually began to subside. Only then did Chariset speak.

"My fellow Threepwoods," she called out, some part of her dispassionately amazed at how quickly the huge group, not quite a mob, fell silent. "Today is the day we have all been waiting for, some of us for years, some for centuries. Today is the day of our freedom from the monster called Big Whoop!"

"Nonsense!" spat Dad, only to be hushed by several other members of the crowd.

Good, she had their attention. Chariset went on quickly before she could lose it.

"You all know the story. The monster kidnaped us and locked us here in the spirit world under the _pretense_ of a contract, an agreement that he swore he would keep for all eternity. He insisted, he vowed that _he_ would _never_ break his word, no matter what we did, no matter what we tried. And he bound us to his rules with his own power as surety to make sure we'd never break them--and then he bound himself to his rules with only his honor to enforce them. And whenever it seemed that anyone else would try to hold him to his word, he made certain that they'd never be able to tell whether he kept it or not. Didn't he? Didn't he just take away our one link to the outside world? Didn't he lock Agnus in the darkness while he murdered his family? Didn't he try to do the same thing to me?"

She tried to lock eyes with the spirits in the crowd from where she stood, fueled by every ghostly head she saw nodding in slow agreement.

"And it worked. We couldn't catch him at it. Not until a priestess of voodoo intervened could we see what he was really up to. But she did--she took me out of the spirit world by force...and I learned what all of you are about to know. Something _he_ would try to hide from you until the bitter end, because he decided you don't need to know all of the truth." Her tone was biting. "Well, I think you do. So here it is. The truth."

She paused again, enjoying the moment. "I have not one, not two, but _nine_ witnesses that Big Whoop, the only one who _ever_ honored the contract, has broken his word. He..has..reneged." She hammered each word home. "The contract is broken! The agreement is shattered! Brothers and sisters, it's finally over. We're free."

Tense silence fell over the square when she finished, but a near-palpable wave of relief, surprise, excitement, dread, and a million yet-unnamed alloy-emotions was sweeping the crowd below. Chariset bit the inside of her lip, forcing herself to remain quiet and wait for them. She'd said all she knew--now they had to decide. Would they believe her? _If they don't, they may well tear me to pieces for getting their hopes up_...

Even Agnus trembled a little. "Do ya mean that, la?" His tone was hope expecting a cruel disappointment.

"I mean that." She searched her mind for some kind of evidence that would damn Big Whoop once and for all. "Agnus, do we actually have a contract with the monster? Something physical?"

He reached into a pocket on his shirt and actually produced a large piece of paper, about the size of a postcard to him but too large for anyone else to handle.

She was amazed. "We actually _do_ have one."

He brandished the thing and unexpectedly spoke up. "Do ye see this? I h've carried this aroun' for almost three-hundred years. This is tha agreemen' that traps us here. For centuries we treated it like it was someth'n holy...didn' we? But that was over yesterday. Today, it's just paper."

"Well said," Chariset applauded, _sotto voce_. Then, loud enough to be heard "Tear it, Agnus. Rip it in two. Show us that it's over."

"Stop!" Heads swivelled across the room to this new focus of attention--Mom and Dad, of course, rising up to bracket her. "You know the rules, Agnus! Tear that up and you'll kill us all."

"It's over, Agnus," she insisted, ignoring them. "You've got to believe me."

"I do, la." He raised both hands to the top corners of the card.

"Lawbreaker!" shrieked her mother. "She doesn't care about you! She doesn't care about any of you. All she's ever wanted from this place is to get out again. Who knows what she'd do to get it. Maybe she'd make a bargain with Big Whoop himself--her freedom for your life."

Chariset whirled on them furiously...then stopped. Her old, hazy intuition, the sense of 'wrongness,' crystalized suddenly into a solid truth. "Perhaps," she responded instead, slowly. "Or perhaps you did."

"How dare you accuse us, Catherine?" They hovered on both sides of her now. The crowd below was silent, watching them argue. Agnus held the card steady, still braced to tear it apart.

"_Chariset_! I see it all now. You've been acting strangely, calling me by the wrong name, preaching a gospel of 'stay here and die' when anyone else tries to preach freedom." She trumpeted the words to the crowd, feeling strangely light-head from the combination of stress and revelation. "You don't object to this because you're afraid for Agnus....or anyone else! You object because you've been working for Big Whoop this entire time."

They lunged at her from both sides, snarling. It was already too late; they'd established their guilt to the entire crowd. But perhaps they could still silence her.

"Tear it, Agnus!" Chariset insisted, darting away before they could close on her.

"You're coming with us," declared the man who looked like her dad (_not_ Dad, not ever again) sharply. "Big Whoop, open the gate!"

Something 'opened' in the reality just above her head--all the warning she got before a vortex of energy seized her and catapulted her into a black cavern she didn't recognize. She flew into the ceiling with a resounding thud, staggered back, only to feel cold chains snapped onto her wrists. Spirit chains. And someone with a firm grip had hold of her arm.

Chariset whipped around angrily, only to meet her own eyes. Her captor was a black-haired but otherwise spectral woman. "Odia..."

"Shut up and get moving," the other snapped, pushing her forward. "Daddy wants to see you."

_Oh, I don't think so_. She raised her chin and gave her niece her second-best glare. "You can't threaten me. Or even keep me here." The chains were holding firm, which might belie that--but she still wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. "What more could you possibly do to me? I'm a ghost."

The daughter of the island blinked, then smiled in a way which was truly sinister. She brought up her other hand and brandished a small glass container at Chariset's nose--a seltzer bottle of a brown-colored fluid. The nozzle was pointed directly at her throat.

Chariset recoiled instinctively._ Root beer_.

"Oh, I'm sure I can come up with something," remarked Odia casually, sloshing the liquid around. "Thirsty?"

* * *

Elaine paused at the edge of the clearing where the Monkey Head once stood, getting her bearings and waiting for the rest of the troop to close up. The Voodoo Priestess and the Necromancer were nowhere in evidence. Holly was back in camp on Dinky Island with Horace, Mort, and Madame Xima, but Nic, the Barbery Trio, Griswold Goodsoup, and the faithful company of soldiers now closed up around her position from all directions. Ahead of them, the gaping maw of Big Whoop's lair.

She could feel her forehead breaking out in a cold sweat at the sight of that dark mouth which had swallowed her family, her husband, and her daughter. She did _not_ want to go down there.

Polly gave her a quizzical cheep, blinking one jet eye at her. "I know," she muttered to the green parrot. "I'm being a coward."

"I wouldn't say that, lass." Elaine jumped a little, startled, as the Scottish giant spoke softly into her other ear.

She must have been wired tighter than she'd thought. "Why do you say that, Haggis?" she asked, taking a few more slow, deep breaths.

"Ye're still going in ther, right?"

"Of course. I just can't seem to get--"

Commotion erupted behind them. She whirled--the bushes were alive with blades in the gray light of dawn--Big Whoop's undead soldiers. Somehow, he hadn't thought to send anything at them but the old standby--and they knew how to deal with those by now. "Nic, Lewis, Harding, and you too, Goodsoup," she snapped, training taking over. "They're all skeletons. Use attack plan alpha."

"Right." The men went to work with cold efficiency.

Attack plan alpha was simple--disarm the skeletons, remove their skulls, and bury them. The headless bodies were all but useless without a brain...or brain cavity..to direct them. She had never understood why a skull without a mind, or eyeballs, for that matter, could function as a head--but then, how could a skeleton without muscles move? Some things, no one can answer.

The last of the skeletons was finished off--none other than a grim Griswold decapitated him, manually turning the boney body around and sending it charging off to do wild battle with the trees. Elaine was still uneasy....and not the only one.

"That was too easy," remarked Cutthroat Bill for all of them.

"Why an attack from behind? Shouldn't he at least be trying to keep us out?" The logical Edward van Helgen looked elegantly puzzled in a way that Elaine slightly envied. She seldom felt as composed as this man always looked.

"Maybe he's got nothing tae fear." The entire Trio had put a word in now. "Or at least he'd like tae make us think he does."

Elaine finally found a way to join the conversation. Of all of them, she knew Big Whoop the best. "That's like him. He thinks he holds all the cards." She stroked Polly's back feathers. "We should be able to surprise him at least once, maybe twice.."

"With Horace to jump us out if things get bad," added Nic, who traded the shovel he'd been wielding for Polly's counterpart, the red parrot Elijah. "We're as prepared as anyone's ever been."

"Right.." This was it. "I'm glad that every one of you is here with me," she told them. "I'm going to do all I can to bring everyone who goes down there back out with me."

"So will we, lass," Haggis joked, straight-faced but with a twinkle in his eye. Some of the soldiers laughed.

Elaine didn't, but she felt slightly warmed nonetheless. "All right. Is everyone ready?"

The roll-call chorus of 'Yes's was rudely interrupted midway--more soldiers. This must have been Big Whoop's main force--both skeletons and tiny lava creatures swarmed towards her men in all directions but one. Several bushes burst into flame around them.

Not that Elaine was just standing there calmly watching--at the moment the attack began in earnest, all of them retreated in a tightly-packed bunch, forcing her to figure out what was attacking them from the confused images she could catch. They had no torches, and the gray light was unreliable--she could make out the dull-colored enemy soldiers only when they moved.

But her men, bold-hearted all, surged forward undaunted, cutting the skeletons down, kicking the skulls away like so many footballs, stomping on swords and breaking them. She caught glimpses of van Helgen, still cool as a sea cucumber, neatly picking weapons out of skeletal hands with pistol shots; Griswold fighting like a much younger man amid the fray; Haggis smashing the creatures apart with heavy fists; Bill proving himself well-named with a shorter but deadly-accurate weapon. For a moment, it looked like yet another easy victory.

Motion in the corner of her eye--one of the tiny lava-mites launched itself at her soldiers. A man was stricken in the chest--he shrieked only once as he went up in flames. The cinder that had been the Little Whoop hit the ground simultaneously with the unfortunate soldier's blackened skeleton as the scent of charred death filled the air. Elaine unconsciously put her hands to her face, almost wanting to cry.

Two more of her soldiers met the same grisly fate, but the rest resumed the fight as though they themselves were immortal--Nic actually sliced one lava creature in half with his sword as it flew towards him, melting the blade in his hands. He took a shovel and buried the halves in dirt, smothering them. "Run, Elaine!" he yelled, swatting at another creature. "We can hold them off for a while, but you've got to get inside before they block the exit."

He was right, of course. "Haggis, Bill, van Helgen, come with me. The rest of you, try to keep a path open to the mountain for as long as you can. If it gets impossible, just run...we'll meet up later."

For better, for worse, for Guybrush, she dove into the darkness, the three pirates on her heels.

* * *

Guybrush himself shifted on feet which had long since passed 'aching,' (actually, all adjectives failed. They just really, _really_ hurt).

He was, of course, waiting for the bitter end in Big Whoop's throne room. Odia had dragged him here, then immediately vanished on some errand of her own, leaving him to stand next to the throne with 'Daddy.' He shifted his weight again and stifled a groan, wishing he could sit down. The monster ignored him.

He'd been in tight spots before, but even by his standards, this was bad. His brave Elaine was going to come charging down the tunnel any moment now, putting herself willingly back into the monster's clutches in an attempt to rescue him. And...what then? What was to prevent Big Whoop from destroying her, right then and there? He wasn't hopeless, not yet--he'd lost hope only once in his short but strange life--but he couldn't see any clear way out of this situation. _He'll kill her party, he'll kill her, he'll kill me_. _He doesn't have any reason not to and he has a lot of reasons why he should_._ Amusement, for one_.

The monster spoke up unexpectedly. "Ah yes, please come in." It took him a second to realize that Big Whoop was addressing his daughter, just now entering the cavern from a side passage.

Guybrush's heart sank further. Coming in, and not alone. She was shoving the spirit-image of his own sister ahead of her, a container of root beer poised threateningly at her head.

He rounded angrily on Big Whoop. "You really want to make a morning of this, don't you?"

The lava creature only laughed. "I've waited a long time for this, Threepwood. Forgive me a little evil enjoyment."

"I don't forgive you anything. You had no right to do this, monster, not now, not then."

"Awwww....and just what are _you_ going to do about that?" crooned Big Whoop, as though addressing the figurative baby whose candy is stolen--while stealing the candy. Guybrush closed his hands into fists. "Try to kill me with your bare hands again. Come on, try it."

Guybrush fought for some semblance of calm, even though he wished he could do just that. "Listen to me. You're the one who's big on balances. How long do you think you can keep doing this before it comes back around? Do you think your day'll never come?"

"Ha. You seem to think I actually care abo--" Big Whoop started to answer--then saw that his daughter had come within hearing. "Odia, my dearest. You and your guest are just in time."

Chariset glowered at him, but it was helpless anger. "You are one twisted scumbag, you know that? You must think you're pretty clever, making my own niece love _you_ and want to kill _me_." She fought the grip on her arm, but Odia sloshed the container threateningly and forced her to subside. "Well, I hope you're enjoying your little game, because it ends today. The spirits know what you've been up to, and they'll come after you."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Ms. Chariset. Here you are, one drop of root beer away from death, and you're worried about _me_." He smirked. "I'm flattered."

"No, you're are an idiot." She was truly angry now, but it was cold anger. "A homicidal, manipulative, dangerous, moronic.."

Odia jerked her arm. "Watch it," she hissed.

Chari ignored that. "Has it even crossed your mind that there's a price for everything, Big Whoop? Do you think consequences don't apply to you?"

"Ah. We've heard this before, haven't we, Guybrush?" he cut in smoothly. "Don't tell me...let me guess. You're about to say something like..oh... 'How long do you think you can keep doing this before it comes back around?' followed by a vague threat of Judgement Day?" Guybrush clenched his jaw, hearing his own words thrown back in his face. Chari's expression had gone rigid.

"You bore me." The creature actually yawned. "Go stand next to the throne until they come for you."

Chari tossed Guybrush a remarkable glance as Odia shoved her to the other side of the pool of lava, a look of open appeal mixed with desperate determination. He had seen that look only once before--as they ran for their lives across Plunder Island, trying to get to the _Sea Cucumber_ before she was arrested and condemned for treason. It was her fight-to-the-death look. To see her wearing it unnerved him more than anything Big Whoop had done yet.

They waited in uncomfortable silence--Big Whoop on his throne, Guybrush on his painful feet, Chariset with a bottle of what might as well be acid at her throat, Odia holding the acid. Above, they could dimly hear the sounds of a huge fight, rising steadily, mixed with screams and clanging blades. The horrible music reached a crescendo, began to die away--and then Elaine entered the room.

She held her head high, nothing in her posture to suggest that going alone into the den of a monster troubled her. Polly rode her shoulder in true pirate fashion, looking like an extension of her green bandana--but what caught attention about this proud lady was her stance. She had an impressive poise, even with a stomach that clearly broadcast her pregnant condition, even in the dark and gloom of the lair. Guybrush felt his heart swell just looking at her. Sometimes he could hardly believe that she loved him.

Elaine stood motionless for about a minute, staring Big Whoop down (and perhaps waiting for traps), then marched deliberately across the room, coming to a halt scant feet from the edge of the pool. Behind her, the Barbery Coast pirates made an unlikely honor guard, staring wide-eyed at the lava monster. Guybrush found that morbidly amusing--how could they have known that the gangly kid who stole their scissors one lazy afternoon would eventually lead them down here? Down into the pits of Hell..

His red-haired angel smiled professionally, which is to say that the expression never reached her eyes. " Mr. Whoop, if you please. I'd like to have a word with you."

"Ms. Marley-Threepwood, the pleasure is mine," he replied, oily polite. "What can I do for you?"

If she suspected this was a cat-and-mouse act, she concealed it well. "Mr. Whoop, I have come to negotiate your surrender."

"_My_ surrender, Ms. Elaine (may I call you that)? I hope you'll understand if I consider this to be something of a surprise--you see, I had rather naturally assumed that you were here to negotiate your _own _surrender." He snapped his fingers, and a small squad of skeletons stepped in between Elaine's party and the exit. "Which as a commodity might be...shall we say, non-negotiable?"

"Big Whoop, you pride yourself on planning for everything, but this time, you may have jumped too quickly to a conclusion. We have not been idle during these last few months." She abruptly dropped her pretense of disinterested professionalism. "We're here to destroy you if we can, monster. I don't want to have to do that, but I will." Every iron word could have struck sparks from the walls. "We would do better to come to terms without bloodshed."

He relaxed in his throne, enjoying this. "Very well. These are my terms. Remove that spirit-collar you wear, and I will remove the collar from your husband. Surrender to me and I will release him. Surrender your entire party to me, and I will release the Threepwood spirits." He turned and cast Chari a significant look. "Turn Murray over to me, and I will release her."

"You wretched creature," spat Chariset.

"Silence." Big Whoop transferred his attention back to Elaine. "Do you accept these terms?"

"What happens if I refuse your...generous offer?"

"If you refuse, I will give you a few more chances to accept--I am, after all, a fair and decent person." Guybrush choked down his initial reaction to _that_. "But I will be putting on a little...pressure for a rapid decision."

"'Pressure.' Yes, of course." Elaine hadn't missed that slight emphasis. "I can only imagine exactly how you'll start sweetening the deal, but that doesn't matter. My answer is still the same."

She raised her voice. "Big Whoop, you know and I know that negotiations will never go beyond removing this necklace. Because as soon as I can be affected by your Song, you'll use it. You'll just take me over and use me to surrender my men to you. Nothing doing." She crossed her arms. "Your contract isn't worth the spit-encrusted paper you write it on."

"So you refuse my offer?"

"Are you trying to be diplomatic, or are you just exceptionally dense? Yes, I refuse your worthless offer. But I have another you may find just as interesting."

"Oh, really? Say on."

Elaine transferred Polly to her right wrist. "Here are _my_ terms. Hand over my family, my husband, and the soul of my daughter, and I won't kill you."

"That's rather weak, Governor, even for a joke."

"It's no joke, monster. This is the only chance I'll allow. Accept or die."

"Fine. I choose death. Go ahead and kill me." He reclined in the chair insolently.

Her face was a lowering storm. "So be it." She tossed Polly into the air with a falconer's motion--behind her, van Helgen copied the gesture neatly with Elijah. "Fly, birds. You know where to go."

The parrots screamed, swooped directly at Big Whoop (who ducked)--

--and vanished.

Guybrush released the breath he'd been holding for the last two minutes in a sigh of something close to disappointment. Elaine remained as composed as ever, hands loosely linked over her abdomen.

"Ms. Elaine, I really expected more from you." The monster sounded mock-gently-reproving. "But I made you a promise, and so I shall keep it."

He signaled with a magma hand, hauling Guybrush forward by the neck for the thousandth time. "Come join me, Mr. Threepwood." A section of rock formed between Guybrush and the monster's island, enabling him to cross to the center of the lake in two coerced leaps. There he stood, Big Whoop at his back, Elaine to his face, and a pool of molten rock at his feet.

"Do you see this, Governor? You still have a chance to accept my terms."

"How generous of you, monster." Her eyes were anxious, but she carefully modulated her tone to unconcern. "Sorry, but no."

"But what about your husband? You do understand--with this collar, I can make him do anything I want to. Watch."

Guybrush attempted to lock eyes with his wife, but the monster's invisible leash pulled him sharply up, so high that his feet barely touched the ground. He was hanging by his neck, air almost completely cut off, choking. He clawed at the thing, fought to take it off, fought to get some of the pressure off his windpipe, nothing would work. Helplessly he dangled, feeling his face turning red and blue as he fought blindly for oxygen.

"Ironic, isn't it Governor?" said Big Whoop calmly. "The same man who can hold his breath for ten minutes will choke to death in less than half that time. That is, if nothing intervenes."

"Drop him!" Chari was a blur in the corner of his eye--she struggled unsuccessfully to get past Odia and her root beer. "Demon!"

"Guybrush!"

"Elaine," Guybrush wheezed. "Just....let him...do it.."

"No," she protested, too softly for Big Whoop to overhear. "Guybrush, I can't... I can't let him kill you."

The world was turning black and gray, and spinning around him. He squeezed his useless eyes shut. "Two..must die. Don't give..in."

With a voice that trembled, his wife addressed the lava creature.

_Please let her understand_, he thought muzzily, starting to black out. _He's got to die today, even if I'm_...._even if_...._I'm_...

"No. Even if you kill him, I still won't surrender myself or my men to you."

The pressure ceased without a warning, dropping Guybrush to the hard ground like a fisherman discarding his gasping catch. Elaine stifled what sounded like a sob--he wished, primitively, with the fraction of him that wasn't concentrating on breathing, that he were in her arms again, and safe.

"Two more chances, woman."

"I don't accept, and I don't accept." Her tone was shaking but still iron. Guybrush pushed himself unsteadily to hands and knees just in time to see Odia prodding Chariset forward.

"What about your sister-in-law? Will she feel the same way?"

"You know the answer to that," the dark-haired woman snarled. "I'd rather die than be another pawn in your little game."

"But will you make Elaine watch you die? Isn't that a bit cruel of you?"

Chari struggled with the spirit-cuffs, still defiant. "If you kill me, that's _your_ decision. Don't ever try to make it look like it's mine."

Elaine bit her lip, her first sign of uncertainty. "I....I don't know, Big Whoop. I don't think I could bear to watch this."

"What, you can't bear to watch it here? Then what would it be like to watch it over there?" Odia caught the hint and marched her prisoner forward until Chari and Elaine were face to face. "How will it be for you now, Governor?"

"You held firm once," Chari whispered. "You've got to do it again."

A snicker. "Bah. Are you hoping I won't actually go through with it?"

Elaine clearly wavered, but once again, she held true. "I still can't..."

"She's not valuable to me, you know. I have no reason to spare her."

"I don't accept your terms!"

"Then watch her die."

Chariset closed her eyes. Odia raised the bottle of root beer.

The instant Odia depressed the plunger, Elaine moved. She darted right through Chari's substance, seized the bottle, and redirected it at the crucial second, sending the deadly stuff harmlessly into mid-air. With root beer still dripping off her hands, she seized the spirit-cuffs and melted them to nothing.

Odia still gaped at her, shocked, as Chari broke free. She snapped the control latch on Guybrush's collar, dropping it to the ground--he, thinking quickly, shoved it into the magma, where it vanished.

He jumped to his feet and spun around, confronting the monster. "It's our turn now, Big Whoop."

"_Bwaaaaaaack_!"

"That's right, you! You're finally going to get what's coming to you," Largo yelled triumphantly.

Big Whoop suddenly threw himself backward and howled in purest agony, twisting and writhing like an oak tree toppling back to earth. "You little cretin, LaGrande! You were worthless then and you're worthless now."

"You made my life a living Hell for months, Big Whoop! You think I'd miss it when you finally get it? Ha." Largo spat into the pool. "Shut up and die."

_They must have taken away his powers_, Guybrush realized belatedly. _I've got to get out of here before he takes me down with him_.

Big Whoop heaved convulsively, shock waves shattering the ground for yards in all directions. Elaine staggered back, the Barbery trio on her heels. Guybrush fled to the edge of the island, but found nowhere else to go. The pool just wasn't narrow enough for him to jump between the edge of the island and the opposite shore.

Largo, caught on the unstable outer bank, slipped on the uneven ground, staggered for balance on a piece of rock which was bobbing in a molten sea. "Damn you!" he shrieked, as the tile he occupied tilted madly and threw him into the lava below. He vanished in a puff of flame and black smoke, Big Whoop's final victim, defiant to the end.

Thus, perhaps appropriately, ended the life of Largo LaGrande.

The island was rooted to the bedrock of Monkey Island itself, but even that seemed to twist and writhe on its foundation, as though its center was turning soft and liquid. Big Whoop, thrashing around on a throne that was actually melting, seemed oblivious to Guybrush, but the cornered pirate was still hyper-alert. One wrong move, one moment of carelessness, and those flying limbs would send him right into the magma to join Largo.

"Guybrush!" Chari wrapped her arms around him, fighting with all her strength to lift him up. In her physical form she might have had a chance, but not as a spirit, and reluctantly she gave up, panting.

"Guybrush," she said instead, "do you trust me?"

He ducked as Big Whoop struck at them. "Yes, of course I trust you!"

"Then jump into the lava."

"What??"

"I won't let you get killed. I promise you--I can--"

As she was speaking, she looked up, gasped, and vanished. An instant later, a jet of root beer splashed the stone where she had been. Odia.

Chariset reappeared near Elaine. "Odia, stop!"

The girl was wildly angry, almost out of her head with desperate rage. "You hurt Daddy, all of you!" she shrieked. "You deserve to die!" She fired off another round of the liquid with near-perfect accuracy, forcing her target to dodge once more. Chari was too fast for her to kill, but there was no way she'd be able to get back to help him.

Guybrush himself nearly lost his balance as the center of the island began to melt, dragging Big Whoop down into it. The creature gargled in something like pain, "Odia....help me..."

"Daddy?" She darted to his side, her anxiety and pain clear to see. "Oh, Daddy, what have they done to you?"

"Odia, my little girl...take my hand..."

Without a word, without an instant's hesitation, she did so-

-and Big Whoop launched his soul from his twisted, dying wreck of a body into her fresh, young spirit.

She screamed once, horribly, a sound that made Guybrush leap up on pure instinct and run to her rescue, cold sweat trickling down his neck. "Big Whoop, stop!" he yelled desperately, but the cry was lost, swallowed up by the air.

Just as he reached them, the unholy thing twisted--the scream mutated into a gleeful cackle as all the power of the Threepwood spirits came coursing through her spirit-form. A gigantic human-shape, larger than Big Whoop and Odia combined, burst out of the remains of the throne with a rush of power like a hurricane gust, shoving him back. Fingers blazing lightning, the...Thing..loomed over Guybrush, poised to strike him down, blazing with a power that made his hair stand on end. It was Big Whoop. It was Odia. They were unmitigated Hatred. Monkey Island's daughter might well have been raised for this very moment--this final moment.

And now there would be no mercy or hesitation.

Big Whoop's Hatred struck, sending a blinding stab of unbearable burning--electricity--through every part of his body. He screamed, or thought he did, and collapsed bonelessly on the ground, every muscle helplessly slack. Elaine ran to the edge of the pool, but the Hatred swatted at her, knocking her down. Chariset shrieked some kind of warning. Guybrush looked up and saw Death.

The Hatred laughed, and drew back her/his arm with agonizing slowness for the killing blow...


	9. Finale

Daughter of Monkey Island

Chapter 8: Finale

"_Stop_."

The voice rang out in the electric silence of the cavern, speaking quietly but with immense _authority_--enough force and will in that single word that even the Hatred, its prey lying defenseless at its feet, had to listen. He/she whipped his/her spirit-gaze around, just as Elaine and Chariset did below.

Chariset felt her jaw drop in joyous astonishment. "Agnus!"

"Chari-la. Are we too late?" The giant stood tall at the head of an army of souls, brandishing two torn halves of a useless contract like banners. 

She must have been grinning like a fool. "No, no I'd say you're just in time."

"Traitor! Renegade!" bellowed the Hatred in a voice no human vocal chords could bear. Lightning crackled and hissed at the tips of his/her clawed fingers. "Get back!"

_Now. While the monster's distracted_. Chariset locked eyes with her brother--he nodded and leaped off the shore. She caught him, and together they plunged together into the molten stream of magma. As they struggled out the other side, to an anxiously waiting Elaine, Big Whoop snarled and struck warningly at the spirit ranks, slashing with lightning-claws. The blows slid harmlessly aside.

"I think not, Big Whoop," rejoined Agnus, voice even. "This time it be you who needs ta be gettin' back." 

"You dare--" The creature sputtered, in sheer blind fury almost unable to put words together. "You _dare_ presume to attack me? I am Big Whoop! I am the spirit of this island! I am all the power and luck of the Threepwood family combined in one person. You _dare_ confront _me_?!" 

"We _are_ the Traepwood family," declared Agnus. "And we h've paid for centuries for pow'r we never claimed. Not until naw, monster." 

Eyes hard, every spirit assembled, surrounded the island and the spirit-monster. They hemmed him into a tight circle, nothing of mercy in their expressions or their postures. This was Judgement Day. 

Polly gave a frightened _sqwack_ and vanished. 

"Chari!" Murray must have appeared somewhere in the back of the room--he ran up from behind them and caught up her hands. Guybrush stood unsteadily, clearly on his last legs--Elaine interposed herself between him and the lava, eyes flashing with a fierce love at once both charming and frightening. 

The four made a tiny huddle at the edge of a battle of far greater powers. Chariset had never wanted to cower so much in her life. 

Stalemated, the Hatred and the Threepwoods, represented by Agnus, locked glares. Big Whoop tried to sing, but the Circle blocked his song-energy. The Circle then tried to smash him into the ground, but he drew energy from some unexpected source and blasted them back. As he did, Chariset thought she heard a woman's scream.

"Nice try. But naw we end it, monster," trumpeted a voice she only later recognized as Agnus.'

The circle of spirits suddenly blazed with a nameless energy, too bright for human eyes to stand. Elaine and Murray cried out and covered their eyes--only Chariset, who had no retina to be dazzled, could clearly see that the unbearable energy of the Island itself coursed through them--that full measure of energy which Big Whoop had stolen for centuries--the power of the island multiplied several hundredfold. It was so brightly incandescent that it hovered on the edge of visibility, wavering into ultraviolet and higher in peaks. 

_Magic has a price, _she remembered, grimly._ Now we get what we paid for_... 

What they had bought was more unbearable than the lava, more ancient than the bedrock, more enduring than the oldest family name. And it was all about to be brought to bear on Big Whoop.

And his daughter.

_Odia_..

Agnus held both broken pieces of the contract high--through them, the energy seemed to be channeled and focused. He raised them over his head, a solo duet in the great and terrible Song of the Threepwoods, in which all members were the chorus. Their audience, bowing low already under the pressure of this new Song, would never survive its finale.

_Dear God, we're worse than LeChuck_, Chariset thought, even as another part of her rejoiced.

Big Whoop's Hatred gathered together what was undoubtedly his last effort and burst forth in an blaze of green fire. Scouring gusts of wind blasted the three humans some distance away, dropping them in an untidy pile on the cavern floor. Murray's hand was torn from hers, leaving her alone to witness the end of the long and bitter battle. 

The unknown woman screamed again, but this time Chariset could see into the midst of the Song-storm. _Of course_.. 

Big Whoop had one last source of power left to him--the very last of the family line. Odia.

She, too, owned a share of the Island's strength--and her 'Daddy' would use her up if it would keep him alive just a few more seconds. Never mind that he was already tearing her into pieces, never mind that it would eventually kill her--at the very end, as always, his only concern was himself. 

And Agnus, mere instants from unleashing the power of the Island upon them both, would kill his many-times great grandaughter along with their worst enemy. 

Chariset was cast into the cruelest moral struggle of her life.

_Isn't the death of Big Whoop worth that one sacrifice?_ she tried to rationalize. Guybrush and Elaine were busy picking themselves out of the rocks--would they even notice if Odia died while she could still prevent it? Wouldn't they understand?

Agnus slowly lowered the pieces of the contract, closing his hands, about to bring the two halves together....

Even as she launched herself into the center of the Circle, Chariset felt the answer in her very soul. _No_. _They would never understand_.

"Agnus, stop!" she screamed at him, throwing both arms wide as though she could shelter the monster behind her wings. He looked up, startled, and tried to pull the blow..

It was too late. The cards came together, flaring into brilliance even she was unable to bear. The gathering bolt once released, had nowhere to go but forward--into the target and into her..

* * *

Horace Deadeyes knelt motionless on that same beach he had walked so many months ago, a dejected castaway fighting the call of Big Whoop. Map in his hand, he memorized the symbols for Dinky Island, studying the words, speaking them carefully with no image in his mind to be sure of his pronunciation. He was only going to get one chance at this. 

Polly appeared, shrieking wildly. He raised his head. "Is it time?"

"_Bwaaaaack_!"

"Okay." He stood up and walked to the water's edge, facing a large blank expanse of sand. "Here goes..."

_Comec mec tois la undo falto sho re al ro uwh omi se.._ The syllables were liquid--they flowed effortlessly, leaving his mind free to envision a dark cavern filled with people, crowded with people, enemies, friends, some knowns, mostly unknowns, people whom he envisioned. 

_Crew. You are all a crew. Out of the depths of the mountain, I summon you_, chanted the spell. _Come **here**. _

"..alla ne far e suret," Horace finished. 

The nonsensical words rang out into a strange silence--the expectant silence which sweeps over the audience just as the lights come down and the curtain is raised... A hum, a thrill of magic resonated in the air...and a fluttering, butterfly tremble. Something was happening. 

Horace himself swayed on his feet, feeling strangely light-headed. The map fell from fingers gone suddenly numb, hit the sand, and crumbled brittlely into dust. Whatever power invoked this spell, it was drawn from him, weakening him like a wound, reducing his legs to jelly. His knees buckled, yet still the drain continued. 

Face down in the sand now, the tidal pull stronger than ever. He fought instinctively for consciousness, struggling to keep from blacking out entirely, but he was losing. He'd gone too far this time. The spell would turn on him and consume him. 

Then something _snapped_ in reality--one side of this tug-of-war had given, and not his. 

The backlash of power catapulted him backwards into the soft, wet sand of the beach (at low tide, thankfully), where he lay motionless, almost completely drained, among his handiwork. He'd done all he knew how to do. Had it been enough?    


Lemonhead found him--and them--some ten minutes later, still out cold. "Priestess, Holly, come look at this!"

Holly stumbled onto the scene and gasped. "Where'd all these crystals come from?"

"A better question--why aren't they open?" put in the wizard.

The Voodoo Lady placed her hands gently on the lid of one ice coffin. "Big Whoop has not yet been defeated. The resurrection spell cannot take hold."

The sun blazed down on the still, cold faces of the Threepwood family. "Come on, then" said the Necromancer. "We need to get them under cover until the spirits return. They won't thank us if they wake up sunburned."

They bent themselves to the task, even the Necromancer in his elaborate robes, long sleeves trailing in the sand. It was hot and dusty work, to say nothing of slightly unnerving, moving this crowd of all-but-dead bodies. Holly stared into each face as she shoved the coffin through the sand, hoping and fearing to see her friend Chari in one, but presumably the woman was still in the group of blocks which had not yet been moved.

Without warning, two coffins still on the sands shattered with the sound of a glass boulder bursting. Holly and Lemonhead jumped, shielding their faces from the flying shards. The ice, mixed with tiny pieces of a grey...something and scattered across the beach, was already melting.

The priestess looked across the half-sorted field of undeath with great sorrow in her eyes. "What happened?" asked Holly in a near-whisper.

"It is just as I foretold," she replied mournfully. "These coffins do not break, unless the inhabitant.." she paused.

"Dies?"

She turned her large brown eyes on the red-haired girl. "I'm afraid so, Holly."

"So....who died?" asked Lemonhead.

* * *

"Catherine, no!" 

Two blurs of motion at the corners of her eyes--a man and a woman lunged into the fatal, blinding fury of the bolt. They each seized half the contract, pulling with teeth-gritting effort-

-and vanished in identical flashes of light as the divided wave of energy broke over them. They had--they must have--known that trying to stop the beam would only turn the power of the island on themselves. 

Not a spark or even a puff of smoke remained to dramatize their passage. Her mother and father were simply..gone.

Chariset and Agnus stared at each other in shock. _I was wrong_. _Whatever else they were, they were still my parents, always_. _They probably just wanted me to be safe_..

"Well done," sneered the Hatred from behind her--the monster she had just sacrificed both her parents to save. Lightning claws were already charging up to strike. "So nice of you to step in. The more especially as your family doesn't have another attack like that left in them."

She prepared an angry reply, but it died unspoken. He was right. The Circle was breaking up around them, their power exhausted. Where would they go now? Back to the crystal room to resume their confinement? Had she just ruined their last, best chance at freedom?

"Odia," she said desperately, trying to speak to the girl trapped inside her own soul, the monster's stolen home. "Odia, you have to listen to me. This man...this_ thing_..is not your father. He never has been! Look at what he's doing to you! He's using you! He's never really loved you."

"Enough!" bellowed a voice of angry denial--and she knew that both Big Whoop and his daughter had spoken. "Not another word!" 

With the abrupt anger of a cat's lashing tail, they struck her aside, knocking her completely across the room. She impacted with a wall and slid down to the floor, exactly as her physical form would have. Big Whoop was already aiming a bolt of fire at her heart from the center of the room. 

_So this is it. I'm going to die because of a little girl's temper tantrum_, she thought dizzily, then wished she'd found something a little more dignified for her last message to the world...

"Odia, stop!" yelled an new voice. Guybrush. "Don't kill her."

"Whyever not?" smirked the monster. "She deserves it."

"That's your father's fight, not yours--and you know it, Odia. Your fight is with me. I'm the one you really want to kill."

"Guybrush, what are you doing?" Chariset demanded, leaping forward. Two arcs of lightning pinned her to the nearest wall. 

"The traitor has a point, Aunty," saccharined Odia. "You stay out of this."

"Right." Guybrush gave Elaine a last hug and stood apart from the group. Residual energy from the Island spirit hovered around him, like a thin, sad echo of a halo. He looked both noble and pathetic. "You know I never wanted this fight, Odia, but here it is. Much as I wanted to be Daddy to you, I can see that that's never going to happen. But even so...your mother and I love you more than you will ever know." 

Elaine was looking at him piercingly, some part of her sensing what he was about to do. Murray placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

Guybrush went on, face calm but eyes strangely bright. Perhaps when the early martyrs had stood before the lions, they had looked that way. "I'm not going to be the one to hold you back. So.....if killing me will bring some peace to your soul, go ahead and do it."

He folded his hands and waited, expression serene. Chariset, looking at him. wanted to cry. _It's so unfair_...._so incredibly incredibly damned unfair_..

"Offer accepted," snarled the monster. A second time he made ready for the final blow, prepared to strike this upstart down where he stood. Guybrush simply watched, fearless.

The creature struck with all the fury at his command--

--and stopped short.

The wanted power would not come. Odia would not allow it.

"What are you doing?" hissed the creature furiously. "How could you betray me?"

A second, entirely different voice answered, coldly. "Big Whoop, I dismiss you."

The true nature of Big Whoop's 'love,' in stark relief against Guybrush's, was revealed for what it was. Which is to say, nothing at all. "Ungrateful wench! You owe everything to me!" A string of less polite epitaphs followed. "I curse the day I stole you!"

"So do I, 'Daddy.'" With a hiss of anger, Odia attacked the man she had called father.

The lightning chains broke from Chariset's arms, and she darted to the other side of the cavern. Elaine and Guybrush held on to one another, Murray hovering uncertainly beside. The molten/spirit mass that was Big Whoop's Hatred was roiling and muddy, flashes of light and crackling thunder booming out as the two spirits within fought. A high wind ricocheted off the cavern walls, blasting them from unexpected directions.

"Can't we do anything?" yelled Murray.

Even Agnus, the only Threepwood left in the cave, looked nervous. "I don' think so, lad. They've got ta fight it out their own wei."

"She'll be killed!" Guybrush's lucid calm was long gone--he was pale from a mixture of reaction, anxiety, and exhaustion. 

Chariset's glance darted about--settling at last on the bottle of root beer, miraculously untouched. Could they..?

Elaine followed her gaze. "Chari, no. I've seen what'll happen. It'll just kill you both!"

"And what good is to get this far and lose her now?" Murray added, voice strained and tense as he fought to make himself heard over the wind.

"But we've got to _do_ something," Guybrush repeated.

The cloud of spirit roared with outrage. It was impossible to tell who might be winning.

"But what? Guyber, they're both stronger than any of us.." If only she had the Amulet with her, and at full power..

Agnus peered down on the three of them with a sort of paternal gentleness. "Let me do it, la." 

With grim deliberation, he drew a sword Chariset had never seen before from his back. Purposefully, he marched to the combatants, raised it high, then drove the blade down into that churning, swirling mass. 

An outraged shriek rose from within. "Catch, la," called the Welsh giant over the scream, lightly, almost playfully. 

He flicked the blade, and a tiny, white spirit was 'popped' free of the mass of energies--it barreled into her upper body hard enough to send her rolling across the room, landing against yet another wall. Only then could she finally see what she held.

A spirit-baby, smaller than any newborn. A baby girl. What was more, she was clean, uncontaminated, with the potential to be anything or anyone. Agnus had liberated Odia.

Agnus had sacrificed himself...

"No!" cried Guybrush and Elaine in unison.

Chariset looked up, horrified, as the swirling energies of the Daemon Big Whoop rushed up Agnus' arms, leaped upon his spirit-body and merged in a horribly indescribable manner, a thorough and terrible rape of a living soul. The man shrieked once--and then he was consumed..

Subsumed.

Assimilated.

And the largest creature Chariset had seen before or since towered over Guybrush and Elaine...and Murray. 

Fueled by every ounce of life-energy Agnus had possessed. 

Controlling the last remnant of Monkey Island's magic. 

Guybrush and Elaine still glowed faintly, that phantom fire of power, but it was moot. One sneeze and they would all die where they stood. One bolt of lightning, and Monkey Island itself would be no more.

"Chari, la," choked a voice from somewhere inside. "Help me.."   


In the dead calm which ensues when time has come to a near-standstill, Elaine seized the tiny jar of root beer. 

With every ounce of her personality, strength, and drive, she raised it high above her head, flying in the face of the monster's unthinkable wrath-- 

--leaped into the air and hurled it to the ground at his feet. 

Glass shattered. Root beer sprayed out in a brown explosion. Each tiny piece of glass or drop of brown hovered in the air with Elaine, motionless, dancing. The monster began to realize exactly what she had done..

--Time resumed. The sound of breaking glass resonated within the cavern.

Big Whoop, splattered with root beer, began to shake and convulse wildly, a prelude to the explosion..

Elaine seized Guybrush by the arm and fled towards the exit. Murray ran to where Chariset still sat against a wall, ducking low and covering his head. She folded herself over him, sheltering both her man and her infant niece, eyes up and watching.

The monster-Agnus shrieked and went up in black flames. "Thank you, la!" she thought she heard, as the creature writhed and twisted in slow agony, shrinking lower and lower into a fetal curl of death....

It shrank into a seed of itself, and then exploded.

Chariset covered her head as the world descended into black chaos. 

Murray yelped once or twice as pieces of the ceiling showered down upon them. Guybrush shouted something. Elaine made a low sound of anger or pain...it was impossible to say. There was no way to even understand what was happening, let alone describe it--they could only endure as the earth around them went utterly mad, throwing them about like toys, shifting and shaking like a child's pan of sand in a sandbox, rolling them around like pebbles. 

An eternity passed. Then another...

Then, finally, the Island stilled.

Sunlight filtered down, incongruously, upon the still forms of three humans, half-buried in a mountain of silt. Chariset shook the dust off out of habit and looked up at what had once been the ceiling.

The thick haze of dust obscured the view, but it was impossible to miss a gaping crater-window, open to the sky. The mountain above must have been simply vaporized by the force of the explosion. 

"How on earth did we survive that?" croaked a voice. Elaine struggled out of the dirt, hair in hopeless tangles.

Chariset gazed down on the fetus-spirit of the baby girl, who lay silent, sucking her tiny thumb. "I guess we got lucky," she said gently, handing Elaine her daughter to hold.

The other woman accepted the infant soul with an expression of pure wonder. She gingerly, disbelievingly hugged the tiny child, which promptly vanished.

"Oh! She kicked!"

"Oh, my head," groaned one of the guys. Guybrush, as it turned out. "Tell me we won't have to do this again for a whi-hey!" 

Elaine had seized his head and was holding it to her stomach. "She kicked! Here, she'll do it again.."

Guybrush's skeptical expression was replaced by one of wide-eyed wonder. "She did!" He pressed an ear to Elaine's abdomen, listening with intense interest. "She's really alive, Elaine." He looked up at her without moving his head, somewhere between joy and hysterics. "She's real! I can't believe it!"

"Murray?" The man hadn't moved. "Murray, are you alive?"

He groaned and opened bleary eyes. "Chari....what about the crystals?"

_The crystals_.. They must be buried under a hundred feet of rock by now. 

"It doesn't matter," she tried to make herself say...but it was too hard. Disappointment closed off her throat. This was a happy ending in so many ways--just not for her...

Elijah appeared, his timing admirably bad. He whistled at them. "You come?"

Elaine and Guybrush were still carrying on as though theirs was the first baby ever to kick. "Not now, bird." 

"Everyone ask for you. All...family."

Murray looked up sharply. "All what?"

Elijah actually sighed. "You come. I show."

* * *

Murray stood on the beach and stared without shame. _I can't believe Horace pulled this off--I really can't_. _Who'd've thought he had it in him_? 

The scene resembled nothing quite so much as an anthill, purposefully swarming with people of all descriptions. Conspicuous among them was the Voodoo Priestess and the Necromancer, moving from body to body in a shaded area under a large, makeshift tent. Here and there, the ghostly image of a spirit hovered, searching for his or her body--with the help of one or the other wizards, each settled in, awakened, remembered how to breathe, get up, walk around. Some of the Threepwoods were already moving surely, at home in themselves once more--some were taking much, much longer. 

Many of them were gathering around two centers of interest--one a small tent in which Horace, all but tied into a chair with pillows, was recovering from casting the spell which rescued the crystals. It seemed like every Threepwood there wanted to personally thank him, something the little man was having trouble adjusting to. Still, he certainly deserved their gratitude. 

_Every magic has a price_, thought Murray. 

Under another tent were Guybrush and Elaine, both bandaged up, receiving hero's honors. Guybrush sported two enormous white lumps where his feet habitually were--there was no walking around for him, at least for a while. Not that he couldn't find any number of people willing to carry him.

He was also clearly in his element, telling the entire story of LeChuck and Big Whoop to an audience who actually wanted to hear it, illustrating key points with wild and sweeping gestures. Elaine endured this for about five minutes, then went after him with a pillow. 

Murray chuckled as the two honored 'heroes' engaged in a completely undignified War of the Cushions, in which a few of the bolder Threepwoods joined.

"He'll never change," sighed Chari affectionately.

"Speaking of that.."

The woman, still a spirit, regarded him with amused, tired eyes. "I'm just waiting to make sure everyone's safe. We might not have found all the spirits from the Island, and when I'm alive again, I won't be able to check.."

"You worry too much." He took her spirit hand carefully in his. "I have something to ask you, and it's almost sunset, and there's a beach and the ocean right here....it couldn't be more romantic." 

She sighed again. "You can be too darn persuasive sometimes."

"'Stubborn' is the word you're after, I think."

"One of many, yes." But she was smiling.

They stood still for a moment, enjoying one another's company. Then--

"So, how about that walk on the beach?"

"Maybe 'stubborn' _was_ the word.."

"You insult me with your 'maybe's, stubborn wench."

She mock-glared at him. "All right, now you've done it. Excuse me while I go put my body on--"

He made a suggestive sound with his tongue against his teeth.

"--so I can _punch_ you!" She abruptly turned away and flounced down the beach, doing a fine imitation of righteous indignation.

"I look forward to it," he called, laughing inwardly and following. It wasn't often that he got the better of her.

* * *

Down on the main beach, under the watchful eye of the Priestess, the Necromancer, and her brother, spirit-Chari floated over her physical form, looking down with a mixture of excitement and fear. Murray knew that, for all that this was the moment she'd been waiting for, it was still a leap into the unknown, going back to herself. The spirit world was becoming more and more familiar--what would it be like to be earth-bound, to have the physical needs and sensations of any other human? "I knew I shouldn't have let myself fly," she mused aloud 

She looked up at him. "Here goes nothing."

With an uncertain hand, she touched her own face--and immediately vanished back into herself. The body gasped and resumed breathing normally. Murray watched anxiously. She was still far too pale, but her color was slowly, almost imperceptibly, improving, perhaps aided by her old Amulet, now burning with a faint blue flame.

Nothing more happened for long moments. "She needs time to feel at home in her own body again," the Priestess explained calmly. "She has forgotten how to move."

"I'm okay," Chari croaked unexpectedly. "I just need a couple minutes. And maybe some grog." She opened her eyes, squinting as they refused to focus. "Murray?"

He nodded.

"Get down here so I can punch you." 

He obliged. She batted ineffectually at his chin, making a determined effort to sit up. He supported her--which allowed her to land a nice solid blow to his jaw. He jerked back, startled--and dropped her.

"Serves you right," said he, rubbing his abused chin. She glared. 

Guybrush covered his mouth, smothering a laugh, but it wasn't clear whose dignity he was trying to spare. "I must say, these resurrections are usually more peaceful than this," commented the Necromancer blandly.

"Murray and I have never been peaceful," Chari answered hoarsely. 

"Never," he agreed lightly. "Which means I'd better do this now, before she can get away from me..." She cocked her head to one side, frowning, both amused and inquisitive.

He fumbled around in his breast pocket, finding something small and cold with a rounded edge. Guybrush took his place as Chari-prop while Murray knelt in the sand, wincing as both tired knees complained. 

"You see, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you," he began, tone serious. She matched his sober demeanor, but a persistent smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "An math question, if you will.." He held out the ring with fingers that trembled despite his best efforts. "If you have one, and you add one, how many do you have?"

Chariset ignored the ring altogether, then leaned forward and kissed him. "You have one," she said simply, forehead to his forehead, arms around him. "And maybe, in time....two or three."

He took her left hand and carefully slipped the band over her ring finger. Guybrush tensed, but when nothing catastrophic happened, he relaxed.

She laid an arm on the shoulders of each of the two men in her life and pulled herself to her feet. "Congratulations, sis," whispered Guybrush as she hugged him. 

"Thanks, Guyber. I know I'll be happy."

"But of course you will." He paused. "Setti."

"Dollhouse."

"Was yours."

"Was not."

"Was so."

"Was not!"

"Was so!"

"Chari!" Murray broke into the old argument. "If you want that walk on the beach, you'll have to save this little fight for later."

She reluctantly pulled away. "I'll _be_ back," she promised darkly. Guybrush just grinned and hobbled out of their way, letting them slip past and onto the sands. 

* * *

"Are you ever going to tell them how much her diamond's worth?" asked the Necromancer casually, once they were alone in the tent. Guybrush had returned to his place of honor and resumed the story. Elaine had resumed the pillow fight. 

"Why? She doesn't care. Neither does he."

He let it drop. Then-- "Do you care?"

"Not really."

He pulled a gold coin out of a pocket of his robe--a coin engraved with a ship on one side, a cauldron on the other. Gently, he slipped her finger through the hole in its center. 

"You said you didn't care," he reminded her startled eyes.

"So I did," she smiled.

* * *

Guybrush whisked the tent flap aside, took off his outer clothes, and began the familiar procedure of insisting on an equal share of the bed--Elaine had a tendency to stretch out to fill the space available. Eventually he managed to claim enough of the cot to actually lie down, whereupon the battle for the blankets began. He didn't mind. He actually enjoyed the ritual. Being able to simply find a bed and jump in--as he'd been doing for the last few months--felt distinctly unnatural after well over a year of married life. 

He lay there in the darkness, staring up at nothing in particular, one hand absently playing with Elaine's long hair. He'd come so close to losing her today--losing everything, really...it didn't bear thinking about. He _had_ lost his parents, and that was a dull ache which was going to hurt for some time..

Elaine became aware of another warm presence in bed and wanted to cuddle. She curled up against his side, and through her warm skin he could feel the tiniest little flutter. His daughter, alive and well. Never to become Odia, never to hate him. That was no small comfort.

_There's a balance_, he thought finally, while his little girl did gymnastics against his ribs. _Something's taken away, something more is given_. _Maybe it all works out, in the end_.

He pulled his wife closer, closed his eyes, and let himself drift. For the first time in a very, very long time, all was right with the world. At least for the moment. Tomorrow, he decided, could worry about itself.


	10. Epilogue

Daughter of Monkey Island

Epilogue

* * *

  
Considering all that Guybrush and Elaine--and everyone else--had gone through to save her, you might have thought that the actual birth of the daughter of Monkey Island would come as something of an anticlimax. 

But you'd be wrong.

Because from the second Odia decided that it was time to get herself born, chaos reigned in the Fort. 

Guybrush dashed away from a board meeting, leaving shiny-new Secretary Horace in charge; as soon as word got around that Elaine had gone into labor, most of the island crowded into the Fort to hear the news; Murray eventually drew his sword and blocked the staircase leading up to the bedroom. There was no escaping through the front door, so Chari sent Elijah off to fetch a midwife in his own inimitable style--the poor woman hardly knew how to cope with being abducted by a parrot and instantly transported to a fairly unfamiliar room. Luckily training took over--there was a baby to deliver, and nothing would interfere with this ritual. 

Except perhaps Guybrush. He planted himself right by his wife's side for almost the entire ordeal--when the midwife had the temerity to suggest he leave the room, she met a look Big Whoop might have envied. She didn't suggest it again. Chari and Murray divided their time between the rooms, keeping order below, and running back and forth on the stairs to relay updates. Between Murray and the servants, every one of the Fort's uninvited guests was courteously provided with food and drink--and kept out of the way. Chari also took it upon herself to stand in for Guybrush every few hours--sending him out the door to eat or rest with an unceremonious shove. And, unlike the midwife, she was completely immune to the glare. 

Finally, around two or three in the morning, it was time. Elaine, who hadn't screamed once during the long, exhausting hours of labor, made a strangled, agonized sound, bit down hard on the nearest object (Guybrush's hand)--and then it was over. A tiny, red creature had come into being--a tiny red creature busily voicing her anger at finding herself in such a cold and unfriendly world, full of light and strange noises. Her tiny, perfectly-formed hands were curled into fists.

Murray darted downstairs to wake people up and make the announcement--a healthy baby girl. 

Guybrush slipped back to his place at his wife's side. Elaine had collapsed on the pillows, her hair limp and darkened with sweat, face red. Guybrush told her truthfully that she had never looked more beautiful, earning a tired smile which made a lie out of what he had just said. She looked so fragile that he was afraid to touch her.

And then, finally, the midwife handed the blanket-bundled girl to Elaine.

It was a moment Guybrush doubted he would ever forget, looking for the very first time into the glass-marble eyes of their daughter. They were still a clouded gray, huge and full of wonder as they darted around, taking everything in. Wall, bed, Elaine's hair, his face, her face--all were equally important and interesting. When Chari appeared with a bottle of warmed milk, she seized upon it hungrily but never ceased her rapid inspection of the premises.

Guybrush half-sat next to the bed, one arm around Elaine, content to merely watch. This was also a kind of magic, he realized, an older and deeper magic even than Monkey Island's. They'd created a new life, an entirely new person, born to be something like both of them and still completely individual. _I will be here to watch you grow and to keep you safe for as long as I live_, he vowed silently, looking into those bright eyes. _My life for yours_._ Not that anyone will **dare** hurt you as long as I'm around_. 

The baby gurgled, waving a chubby fist around energetically. Elaine stroked her fuzzy baby hair with a chuckle that turned into a sigh. 

Murray reappeared in the doorway. "They want to know what you've named her."

"Eleanor," replied Elaine without a pause. "Eleanor Catherine."

"Oh no no no no.." Chari waved both hands in emphatic denial. "Not me." She knelt down next to Guybrush so she could see all three of them. "Please--I'm honored....but I'd rather you honored someone else."

He had an idea where she was headed. "Do you have someone in mind, Chari-la?"

"If it weren't for him, none of us would still be here," she pointed out.

"Agnus." Elaine looked deeply into the face of the tiny girl and nodded tiredly. "It feels...right." Eleanor just wriggled a little, mostly absorbed in the bottle of milk.

"So....Eleanor Agnes." Guybrush tested the sound and decided he liked it. A name less like 'Odia' could hardly be imagined. "What bizarre Threepwood nickname are we going to twist _that_ into?" he pondered.

Chari shrugged. "Not our problem. These things happen on their own. Right, Greg?"

He winced. "Greg?" asked Elaine. "'Guybrush' came from 'Greg?'"

"'Gregory,' actually.."

Eleanor, with admirable timing, started to cry.

"Don't worry," promised her mother tiredly. "That will _never_ happen to you." 

_Now there's foreshadowing if I ever heard it_, thought the woman born Catherine, exchanging a glance with her brother. _She'll learn_, his eyes clearly said.

* * *

When Elaine was settled in their own bed, Eleanor slowly drifting out of awareness in her arms, Guybrush was surprised to discover that he himself wasn't the least bit tired. So he gently picked up his drowsy daughter and just held her, trying to get used to the feel of this little miracle in his arms. He smoothed back her hair--red-gold hair, he realized, not black at all--her skin a golden color in the lamplight. Half-open eyes warily watched his every move. 

He sat down and rocked her, humming tunelessly; she made a tiny sound that turned into a yawn and closed her eyes. He smiled. Eleanor was probably the only person alive who liked his singing. 

Alive. 

Eleanor, not Odia. 

Alive and well and healthy. 

_How'd we ever pull this one off_?

He hadn't a clue--but here she was. Proof positive, in a blanket and diaper, that the impossible happens. To be his little girl forever and always...

Chariset returned some time later--he wasn't sure how much time had passed. Eleanor was growing heavier and heavier in his arms; finally, she twitched a little, sighed again, and was out. The guests were finally gone, the lower rooms like something out of a custodial nightmare but empty. Murray was sitting on couch in the upper hallway, asleep.

"Guyber, I'm happy for you," she said simply, stealing a blanket and returning to the hallway. She wrapped herself and her fiance in the blanket, laid her head on his shoulder, and snuggled in. 

"So am I, sis," he replied quietly. And, amazingly enough, he was--for the first time in so long. He was happy.

Guybrush sat up for most of the night, just rocking and pondering. Tomorrow was coming, and with it life would go on as usual. But at least they had tonight--just this one dark, quiet night to simply sit and be content.

And just then, of course, Eleanor woke up and started to wail.

* * *

  
Weeks passed, some harried, some slower. Weeks of magic study, planning, and recovering. The group of four who had been most affected by Big Whoop lived together in the Fort, just enjoying each other's company or looking after Eleanor. Then, one afternoon, Murray received a message from Sable Island inviting him to come be their Governor--and everyone knew that their brief respite from the responsibilities of the Caribbean had come to an end. A new story was in the making. 

But before all of that, we must return...   


Deep in the Caribbean, Monkey Island.... 

They had a beach for a church and former undead for most of the wedding party but, by all that was holy, they were going to get married. And so they did.

Gret presided over the ceremony with a great deal of grace, with Guybrush standing as best man and Elaine as matron-of-honor. Elli, now a wriggling four-month-old in her mother's arms, was the tiniest flower-girl he had ever seen. Murray stood stiffly and rather nervously at the shoreline, waiting. 

A figure in white appeared through the trees, facing him. Chariset was holding Elijah carefully on her arm, but when she reached the sands, she launched him into flight. He landed on Guybrush's arm and presented his burden--two rings. No wedding he'd ever seen had had a parrot for a ringbearer.

She walked down an aisle of friends and family, no musicians but the sea and the birds. A great uncle gave her away, she stepped up and took his hand, and he took her name. 

Vows, exchanging of rings, all punctuated by sqwaks by the parrots. The entire world seemed to be watching as they joined hands, "I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Murray Threepwood..."

_Murray Threepwood_. _That's going to take some getting used to_.

"You may kiss the bride."

She smiled and met his eyes...and suddenly they were the only two people on the beach. They kissed.

Every bird on the island broke into noisy flight. Monkeys screeched, treetops danced about in a sudden gust of wind, and an enormous wave crested just behind them, making a dramatic spectacle of the embrace. The island was singing for them..

Two seconds later, the wave broke up and so did they, dripping with salt water and laughing. Elli gurgled gleefully as the entire wedding party raced up the shore, outrunning another wave. "I told you having a wedding at low tide was a bad idea," grumbled Guybrush as they fled to the rowboats. 

Once aboard the _Sea Cucumber_, Lemonhead lifted an old map and rattled off a string of syllables. The ship vanished, bound for Blood Island and the reception.

* * *

That night, Guybrush dreamed about Monkey Island. He was standing on the edge of the gaping hole created when Big Whoop exploded, looking down. The crater was slowly filling with water, becoming a natural lake. In time, it would probably overrun its banks and create a new waterfall. 

A wisp of mist hovered over the surface of the water--a ghost. It was wailing over and over _Kyrie eleison. Eleison. Kyrie eleison_.

"What do you want?" Guybrush called down to it.

"Have mercy!" begged the creature.

"Who are you?"

"I am a Daemon." 

"You're not answering me."

"Have mercy.."

Guybrush wanted to throw a rock at the thing. He didn't. "Tell me who you are."

"I am the spirit you knew as Big Whoop."

"Big Whoop?!" exclaimed Guybrush, and accidentally woke himself up.

Elaine lay next to him, still sound asleep. Whatever he'd felt, she hadn't sensed it.

He got out of bed and paced. What did it mean? He wished he could call up Chari and talk about it, but she would hardly appreciate being disturbed on her wedding night. Eleanor was safe in her crib, and Elaine got so little sleep lately that he didn't want to wake her.

There was only one thing to do, he decided. He, Guybrush Threepwood, Master Adventurer, would have to go back to Monkey Island alone and settle Big Whoop, once and for all. 

A quick change of clothes and a note for Elaine later, he and Polly were off. They landed at the base of the mountain and began climbing.

At the very top, it might as well have been his dream all over again. The moon shimmered, reflected in the still water of the new lake, but no spirit hovered above the surface to block the view. 

"Hello?" he called down. "Big Whoop, are you there?"

No answer. "Daemon, show yourself!" he commanded.

A flicker of fog coalesced into being and began its pitiful lament. "Guybrush! Have mer--"

"Skip it. Why are you still here?"

"You can send a normal spirit on with root beer," whined the creature pathetically. "But I'm a Daemon. Where do I go when I get 'sent on?'"

Guybrush would have none of it. "My daughter dismissed you as Odia. You can go serve someone else."

"But I'm physically bound here!"

"To what? The water?"

"To a stone which was my physical link to the world. It was buried when the cavern collapsed."

_Oh, how convenient_. Guybrush sighed. "So you'll just have to haunt the place now?"

"Unless someone gets that stone."

He looked at Polly. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"

"_Bwaaaaaaack_!" A definite affirmative.

"Do you think you could find it?"

"_Baaaaaaak_." A qualified affirmative.

"Where do you think the stone is now?" he asked the spirit.

"Right under me. If I could touch it myself, I'd be free by now!"

Guybrush toyed with the idea of diving in after it, but this could easily be a trick--the spirit's last attempt to kill him. Besides, he wouldn't know what to look for. "Polly?"

She whistled and vanished. Two seconds later, she returned, dropping a heavy piece of crystal on his head. He barely caught it before it vanished into the water.

"That's it! Now set me free!"

"Not so fast.." Guybrush rocked the crystal point in his hand, thinking. Polly shook the water out of her feathers and blinked at him. "I think we need to renegotiate."

The spirit sighed. "You Threepwoods! Never keeping a bargain."

He continued to play with the damp stone. "Not so." Inspiration suddenly struck with all the subtlety of a loose cannon. "In fact, I've got the perfect job for you."

"Which is?"

"Big Whoop, or whatever your name is, you may have done a lousy job raising my daughter, but you _did_ raise her, and you kept her safe. So no one else is better suited for this task than you."

"I'm not a patient spirit, Threepwood.."

Guybrush smiled thinly. "Well, you're going to learn to be." He held the stone firmly in both hands. "Spirit, I order you to serve my daughter Eleanor and protect her until the day she turns eighteen. When that day comes, you can take service with her or go serve someone else. Either way, you'll be free to choose."

The Daemon gaped. "Eighteen years?"

"Eighteen years," he repeated firmly. "And if I get the slightest _hint_ that you're playing around with her mind, I'll chuck your stone back into the lake. Got that?"

"You idiot," hissed the spirit. "Do that, and I'll begin the curse all over again."

"Well then, maybe I'll just call in my sister. You _do_ remember Chari, don't you?" His tone was sweetly menacing. "She still has the Amulet, you know--and no real reason to like you..."

"Eighteen years will be fine," grumbled the Daemon, defeated.

* * *

"What's this?" asked Elaine the next morning. 

Arranged carefully on their mantlepiece was a disparate trio of items--a colorless crystal point about as long as a man's hand, a half-ticket marked with the letter E, and a small framed watercolor portrait Holly had given them. Eleanor's face, captured in a happy (if toothless) grin. 

"That," replied Guybrush seriously, "is the treasure of Big Whoop." He caught her up in an impulsive hug. "I finally found it, Elaine."

The smile he'd been struggling to keep down finally broke out--she laughed and kissed him. "Was it worth the hunt?"

"Do you really have to ask?" replied he in his best attempt at a seductive tone, playing with her hair. She started to relax into his arms...

Eleanor, of course, chose that moment to burst out crying.

"_Yes_!" exclaimed Elaine, exasperated.

But they let the treasure of Big Whoop wail for just a minute longer while they resumed the interrupted conversation. Guybrush just closed his eyes, wishing the moment would never end....wailing and all..

So this was the treasure of Big Whoop. Was it really worth every moment of pain and tears and fear and all the sleepless nights?

_Absolutely._   


_Finis._


End file.
